Every Rose Has Its Thorn
by MsBarrows
Summary: Written for a prompt on the k!meme wanting smut involving Jowan introducing a templar warden to magic in an intimate way. Sequel to "So Sharp A Thorn". Rated M for M/M smutty bits. An Arren & Co. story.
1. Tabletop Dining

**The k!meme said "Let there be smut", and so there was. Yes, another prompt fill. This one said:**

_"**I'd really like to see some pure, unadulterated smut involving Jowan, a Warden that's not a mage or was from the Tower, and Jowan introducing our dear Warden to magic in the most intimate of ways. Bonus points if it somehow involves his blood magic. Warm, chocolate chip cookies if the Warden's specialty is a Templar and you work it into the story somehow."**_

**Attempting the fill with my Jowan-Alistair pair from "So Sharp A Thorn", so yes, it's going to be a slash-y good time involving a templar warden. Smut level is fairly mild, since I'm still trying to get comfortably with writing reasonably explicit material. I have some plot and character development mixed in with it****, as it helps to get me past the bits that make me feel an overwhelming need to go hide my head under a pillow until the blushes fade. **

* * *

><p><em>Every rose has its thorn<br>Just like every night has its dawn  
>Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song<br>Every rose has its thorn_

_Though it's been a while now  
>I can still feel so much pain<br>Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals  
>but the scar, that scar will remain<em>

_- "Every Rose Has Its Thorn", Poison_

* * *

><p>It seemed very quiet in the group's rented quarters after Arren, Oghren, Sten and Morrigan departed for the Deep Roads. Wynne had headed directly off to visit the Shaperate and bury herself in research after the others departed, and Zevran had vanished off somewhere. Alistair and Jowan found themselves at loose ends for once. And with a sizable private room at the end of the hallway all to themselves, and no need to worry about disturbing the neighbours, not when there were thick stone walls between them and the next-closest rooms, and those rooms were currently empty anyway while the others were gone.<p>

They controlled the temptation to make immediate use of their rare chance at privacy; the others would likely be in the Deep Roads for days, if not weeks, and they'd have plenty of time to exercise their baser natures. For now, they enjoyed the tension of heightened anticipation, of delaying their real pleasure, to just spend some time together.

They took Mouse, Arren's mabari, along with them, and went on a walk through the commons, browsing idly at the various shops. Alistair smiled, watching Jowan bartering with a merchant over some geegaw he'd decided he wanted; the man had changed so much in the nearly two months since Arren had talked Bann Teagan into releasing him into the wardens' custody. The frightened, pale dungeon-rat they'd taken on, dressed in stained and stinking mage robes, was now self-assured, his laughing grey eyes and glossy black hair a striking contrast with his tanned skin. He wore a snugly fitting pair of dark sueded leather pants, matching leather boots, and a loose white linen shirt, the only sign that he was a mage the staff he carried, an oak branch that looked more like a walking stick than a magical implement.

When he glanced at Alistair, the brief grin the diminutive mage flashed at him woke a warm coil of desire in the templar's belly. He stepped closer to him.

Jowan smiled warmly up at him. "Lunch at Tapsters, then back to our room?" the mage asked softly.

Alistair smiled back. "Yes," he agreed.

They took their time over lunch, Alistair packing away two large servings of food while Jowan ate a much smaller portion, smiling a little as he watched the warden eat. Even eater at a slower speed, he finished well before Alistair.

"I'm going to go buy a couple more things – why don't we meet back at our room?" Jowan suggested.

Alistair frowned. "Take Mouse with you, I don't want you on your own."

Jowan smiled fondly at him. "Of course." he said, and rose to his feet, snapping his fingers to call the dog to heel. He paused and grinned at Alistair. "How about you pick up some food to bring back to the room? So we can stay in this evening," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Alistair laughed. "That sounds like a great idea. Any requests?"

"Something other than nug or mushrooms."

Alistair snorted. "Good luck. Maybe if I check the market outside."

"Just don't take too long," Jowan said, smiling.

"I won't," Alistair said, and smiled warmly back before Jowan turned and walked away.

* * *

><p>Alistair returned to their room with several well-wrapped parcels in hand. He paused in the door, frowning when he didn't see any sign of his companion. "Jowan?" he called out worriedly.<p>

"I'm in the bathing chamber," Jowan's voice calmly called back. "Be right there."

Alistair smiled, walked the rest of the way in, and put the parcels down carefully on the small table in the sitting area at the front of their room. He stripped off his gauntlets, and dropped them onto the table as well, then reached up and scrubbed his hands through his hair.

"Tired?" a voice said behind him, and he turned to find Jowan looking questioningly at him, wearing only the shirt he'd been in before.

"No, just... antsy. I don't like Arren being so far away that I can't tell where he is," he admitted ruefully, running an admiring eye over the half-naked mage as he reached for the buckles of his own armour. Living as close as the two of them did, he'd not seen any point in trying to conceal Grey Warden secrets from Jowan, and once he'd admitted to more obvious things like his nightmares and increased appetite, admitting the less obvious, like his ability to sense where his fellow warden was, had not seemed worth concealing any further either.

Jowan nodded and walked over. "Let me help you with that," he said quietly, reaching for the buckle Alistair was struggling with. "Stand still.

Alistair nodded and did so, lifting his arms out slightly from his side. He stood quietly while Jowan squired him, carefully removing and putting aside each piece of armour in turn, stacked neatly on the floor nearby. It was oddly soothing, just standing there and letting the smaller man attend to him. And given that it was Jowan – and a Jowan dressed in nothing but a long loose shirt – more then a little erotic as well. An effect only heightened when the mage knelt down to remove his boots and greaves.

He could feel himself flushing self-consciously as he stirred to life within the tight confines of his armour and undergarments. For a moment he half-hoped that Jowan wasn't aware of the effect he was having. Then the man put aside the last piece of armour and rose gracefully to his feet, his lips curving into what was more of a smirk then a smile, and plastered himself against Alistair, hands rising to rest on either side of his neck then slide upwards, fingers twining into his short-cropped hair.

"I love your blushes," Jowan said quietly, voice just slightly husky, and tugged Alistair's head down to meet his lips.

Alistair willingly obliged, leaning over just slightly, eyes drifting closed as he concentrated on the feeling of Jowan's lips under his, Jowan's tongue licking along his lips, requesting entrance. He sighed softly, letting his mouth fall open, his hands rising to rest lightly on Jowan's hips. Jowan's tongue thrust slowly into his mouth, swirling slowly around the tip of his own, a teasing warm wet pressure. The tongue retreated, giving a final little flick at his lips, and he felt Jowan's mouth close and curl into a smile against his own. "You're wearing too many clothes still," Jowan said gently, chidingly, and his hands released Alistair's head to reach down and begin to tug loose the lacing at the collar of Alistair's gambeson.

Alistair smiled, and released his hold on Jowan. As the mage took hold of the heavy padded fabric over Alistair's shoulders and yanked, he stepped backwards and bent forward, lifting his arms so that the unwieldy garment could be more easily slid off over his head. He straightened and rolled his shoulders and head as Jowan bundled the stiff fabric and dropped it to one side. The mage smiled, then stepped close again, one hand rising to twine in Alistair's hair and coax him down for a second kiss, while the second came to rest on his taut stomach just where his ribs left off, then slowly roamed downwards, stroking lightly across the dip of hard muscle and tracing down the thin trail of hairs from his navel to the waist of his pants, then spreading out as it dropped to cup Alistair's erection through the fabric.

Alistair groaned, his hips reflexively flexing to press himself against Jowan's hand, and again Jowan ended a kiss with a smile. "We'll start by doing something about that," the mage said, firmly.

* * *

><p>Jowan looked around the room, and frowned. The major problem with staying in dwarven accommodations, he quickly decided, was that everything was too damned <em>low<em>. There wasn't really any surface at a proper height, except... yes. He moved Alistair's gauntlets and parcels off the table, then patted the smooth stone surface. "Come and sit right here," he said, giving his companion a mischievous smile. "On the edge, with your knees apart."

Alistair silently complied, chewing pensively on his bottom lip as he did so. His nervous expression drew a warm smile from Jowan. Alistair could be so self-confident, so assured in some things – like when he was in a fight, or offering comfort – and then in others areas he was always so terribly hesitant and unsure of himself. At least at first, until he lost himself in his wanton side and forgot to be shy. Coaxing that part of him to the fore in their encounters was a task Jowan didn't think he'd ever get tired of.

He stepped forward, between Alistair's legs. Sitting on the table like this put Alistair's head just slightly lower then Jowan's own for once, and he took advantage of it to exchange a third teasing kiss with the man, enjoying the subtle differences the change in relative heights gave to the experience, the feel of Alistair's hands coming to rest on his clothed back then sliding slowly downwards to cup his buttocks, silently urging him forward. He resisted the gentle pressure, and ended the kiss. "Lean back," he murmured. Alistair obediently released him, leaning back with straightened arms propping him up.

Jowan unlaced the front of Alistair's breeches, then tugged on the waistband, Alistair silently lifting his hips for a moment so that Jowan could slip them down, along with Alistair's smallclothes and stockings. He dropped them to the side, with the gambeson, and then just stood a moment, drinking in the sight of the now-naked warrior lounging back on the table, looking relaxed and happy, except for a certain part of him that was standing at rigid attention.

Seeing Alistair naked like this always brought the same word to mind. _Magnificent_. Because he was, with his golden hair, bright eyes and handsome face, his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped torso and firmly muscled arms and legs. His face was warmly tanned, the tan quickly tapering off down the corded column of his neck, changing to creamy pale skin everywhere else, where he was normally shielded from the sun by his layers of arming garments and impervious armour. _Jowan_ was more darkly tanned then he was, the thin cotton of the loose shirts he favoured not being entirely impervious to the sun's rays.

As he watched, Alistair blushed again, the redness starting in his cheeks then creeping quickly down his throat and across the upper surfaces of his chest. He felt his own arousal increase. He adored Alistair's blushes, the sure sign they gave him of just how powerfully they affected each other. Wordlessly, Jowan dropped down onto his knees, leaning forward and nuzzling against Alistair's straining erection, drawing a hitching gasp from the warrior. He carefully settled a hand on the thighs to either side of him, enjoying the shiver he felt pass through the firm muscles under his touch, then dipped his head and licked slowly up the underside of Alistair's erection, feeling the muscles under his hands go tense and hard as the man hissed and fought not to buck upwards at the contact.

"_Jowan_," Alistair exclaimed, surprised and needy, and Jowan raised his eyes and smiled warmly, reassuringly at him, before leaning forward and closing his mouth around the swollen tip. He sucked gently on him, his tongue laving across the rounded tip, tasting it, teasing circles around the ridged edge, then thrusting firmly against the sensitive spot on its underside, drawing gasps and groans from Alistair.

He slowly sucked more of the man into his mouth, tilting his head back just slightly as he did so, so that he could look up across the quivering planes of Alistair's stomach and chest, and see his face. Alistair had his head thrown back, eyes tight shut, mouth open and panting, lost in sensation. Jowan hummed in satisfaction, was rewarded with a jerk as Alistair struggled to keep still when every instinct was likely screaming at him to _thrust_. He took more of him into his mouth, then slowly drew back, pressing his tongue firmly against the thick vein on the sensitive underside, before taking him in again, a little further this time.

Zevran had told him it was possible to learn to relax your throat enough to swallow someone in entirely, without gagging, but he'd still not mastered that trick, and didn't want to attempt it today. So he settled for taking in as much of Alistair's erection as he could comfortably manage, then wrapped the fingers of one hand around the remainder of his shaft, and then slowly working his head up and down while his hand gently tightened and loosed, tugging and releasing.

He could feel the tremors, the little jerks, the slight rolling motions of Alistair's hips that he couldn't quite stop himself from making, and wanted to smile, though that wasn't possible with his current mouthful. He felt the sudden swelling that heralded Alistair's oncoming orgasm, and drew back, keeping just a little more then the tip in his mouth and sucked, hard. Alistair cried out, hips jerking up as he arched off the table, sinking into Jowan's mouth as his seed spurted out. Jowan swallowed and sucked, swallowed again, only letting his mouth relax as the aftershocks faded and Alistair's hips lowered back to the table again, arms giving out so that he was propped up on bent arms rather then straightened ones.

Jowan rose to his feet, ignoring his own erection, hard and needy against his stomach under the enveloping shirt. "Come on," he growled huskily. "Bath time. And then there's some things I want to try."

Alistair laughed weakly, but pushed himself upright, balancing for a moment on the edge of the table. "You expect me to _walk_ right after that?" he asked hoarsely, but rose to his feet – only a little shakily – and obediently followed Jowan to their bathing chamber.


	2. Us, Together

The tub was full, the water still gently steaming. As Alistair watched, Jowan checked the temperature, then gestured for Alistair to step in. Alistair hissed as he lowered himself into the tub; the water was hot, almost a little too much so to be pleasant, and then his skin adjusted to the sensation and he bit back a sigh as the heat loosened tensed muscles.

Jowan didn't join him right away, but instead turned aside and picked up a wide-mouthed ceramic jar, wiggling the cork loose and then shaking a handful of glittering white crystals out onto the palm of his hand before scattering them across the surface of the water. They hissed and dissolved, releasing a pleasantly spicy fragrance. He resealed and put aside the jar, then moved a low stool over to the side of the tub, placing a tray of things on top of it where it was within easy reach of Alistair, then stepped in and sank down to sit between Alistair's legs, leaning back against his broad chest.

Alistair smiled, and closed his arms around the mage, enfolding him in a loose embrace. He pressed his lips to the top of the mage's head – seated like this, it was about the only part of the smaller man he _could_ kiss – then let one hand drift downward towards Jowan's erection. The mage gently pushed away his hand before he'd quite reached his goal. "Not now," he said amiably. "I don't have your stamina, and I'll be needing that a little later, I hope."

Alistair laughed. "All right," he said agreeably, then turned his head to inspect the tray. "No soap?" he asked, mildly surprised.

"Under the washcloth. _New_ soap," Jowan responded. "Nice soap. Get rid of that horrible lye stuff, or keep it for cleaning armour, but no more bathing with it, all right?"

Alistair frowned. "I hope it's not going to make me smell like Zevran..." he said. Not that he _minded_ the sandalwood-and-musk soap Zevran used, it was actually rather pleasant, just... he didn't want to smell the same.

He couldn't see Jowan's face, but he could hear the smile in his voice when he answered. "Don't worry, it's a different scent. Something just for us to use."

Alistair smiled. _Us_. He liked that. He'd never been part of an _us_ before. Not this sort of us, anyway, Us stable-boys, yes, reeking of horse manure and offal for the hounds. Us chantry scholars, all ink and paper and whispered ribald jokes when the sisters weren't near to overhear. Us templars-in-training, all sweat and blood, all coarseness forbidden. Us Grey Wardens, so briefly, warm brotherhood and an awareness of nearby tainted flesh that was absorbed by some other sense then taste or touch, sight or smell. And now _us_, meaning Jowan and he, friends and lovers, something even better then the tainted brotherhood he shared with Arren alone now.

He picked up the washcloths, swished them in the water and handed them to Jowan, then picked up the smooth bar of hard soap and raised it to his nose, taking a first cautious sniff. Spicy, like whatever it was Jowan had added to their bathwater, warm and pleasant.

"Much nicer then lye," he said agreeably, and reclaimed a cloth from Jowan, dunking the bar and lathering it up, then letting the mage take the bar and lather up his cloth as well, before reclaiming it and returning it to the nearby tray. Then paused. "This tub is too deep," he said, annoyed. "How am I supposed to wash your back like this?"

Jowan laughed, turning his head to smile warmly at him. "We can fix that, if that's what you want to do," he says, and they splashed around awkwardly for a moment, ending with Alistair sitting on the broad rim at one end of the tub with Jowan kneeling upright before him, facing away, Alistair's legs splayed to either side of him

"Much better," Alistair said, feeling smugly pleased, and began running the soapy cloth over Jowan's back, starting at the shoulders and working his way down. Jowan made a pleased sound, leaning back against the gentle pressure, then began cleaning his own front and arms, wiping carefully between his legs, around his still partially-erect penis. After a while Alistair leaned forward, setting his hands on Jowan's shoulders, nuzzling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pressing kisses to his throat. Jowan laughed softly, and wiggled away, turning around and looking smilingly at Alistair. "Your turn," he said, and rose to sit on the edge at the opposite end of the tub.

Alistair snorted, and lowered himself back into the water, moving forward to kneel in front of Jowan, leaning in to cup his face and kiss him. Jowan returned the kiss, even as he started scrubbing at Alistair's chest. They spend a few minutes in slippery fun, exchanging heated kisses and soapy caresses as the two of them finish cleaning each other.

"Enough," Jowan says breathlessly after a while. "As fun as this is, I have _plans_," he says, drawing out the word meaningfully.

Alistair sighed, but acquiesced, moving back and rinsing off, as Jowan also did so, before they stepped out of the tub and sought out towels. Alistair smiled as he towelled himself dry, watching Jowan do the same. He liked that they're both clean and together and _happy_. Even just this, spending time together in relatively innocent fun, is enough to make him feel content. That Jowan has _plans_ of some kind just makes things better. If he was a mabari, he decided, his tail would be wagging. Because Jowan is _his_. They belong to each other now, in the best possible way. A set. An _us_.

When Jowan smiled at him and led the way back to the bedroom, he happily followed, looking forward to finding out just what Jowan's plans for them involved.


	3. Firelit

Jowan dragged a quilt off the bed, and spread in out on the floor near the fireplace, folded to a double thickness. "Lie down," he said. "Please."

Alistair grinned in anticipation and walked over. "Front or back?" he asked.

Jowan smiled warmly at him. "On your front," he directed, then turned away and crouched down, and called fire to his fingertips, sparking the tinder in the waiting stack of wood in the fireplace. By the time he turned back, Alistair was lying down, arms folded under his head, face turned to watch Jowan. He paused for a moment, admiring the play of firelight across Alistair's skin, drinking in the sight of him.

Alistair was looking back at him just as avidly, though from his viewpoint Jowan couldn't have been much more than a silhouette against the growing fire. Then he imagined what Alistair would look like to _him_ were their positions reversed, all darkness against the flame, just the outer curves of his shape backlit by the fire, and felt his breath catch in his throat. He _wanted_ to see him that way. Another time, he told himself, squirrelling the thought away for future reference.

He realized then that he'd forgotten something, something important, and mentally cursed, then smiled and crawled over to the blanket, feeling very aware of how that should look to Alistair, seeing it confirmed in the appreciative look in his eyes. He leaned down, and kissed him, long and slow, then drew back. "Wait right there," he told him, voice husky. "I need to get something."

Alistair nodded, eyes already half-lidded with pleasure, and turned his face down into his folded arms as Jowan rose and walked over to the bed, fetching the bottle of scented oil he'd forgotten on the bedside table. He pulled out the cork as he walked back over to where Alistair waited, then knelt down, straddling his thighs, and poured some out into his cupped hand before putting the bottle off to the side. A whisper of magic to warm the oil, then he drizzled it up Alistair's back, drawing a pleased hum from the man. He quickly rubbed his hands together to spread the excess oil evenly over both of them, then leaned forward and begin to massage Alistair's shoulders. He worked his way downwards, spreading out the warmed oil, enjoying the feel of his slick palms and fingers sliding over Alistair's smooth skin and firm muscles, tracing the few scars that marked his pale skin. From broad shoulders right down past narrow, firm flanks to his ankles, shifting position as he needed to in order to reach every bit of the man lying relaxed and trusting before him.

The hot bath had already relaxed Alistair considerably; the warm oil massage finished the job. Apart from making occasional little sighs or moans or humming sounds of appreciation as Jowan worked his way down, he was lax and quiet, seemingly content to just lie there and enjoy the attention. If he was a cat, Jowan thought, he'd be purring.

He worked his way back up Alistair's legs, long firm strokes that quickly took him back to where he'd started, straddling Alistair's thighs. He leaned forward, letting his touch change from massage into something lighter, strokes more teasing than firm. He lay down, draping himself over Alistair's back, kissing and nibbling at the back of his neck, the swell of his shoulders, his own achingly hard erection trapped against Alistair's buttocks. He'd denied himself release for long enough already; time to finally enjoy himself.

Alistair made an appreciative sound, turning his head to try and look back at Jowan. "Now what?" he asked, voice a low, husky growl that sent shivers through the mage.

"Knees under you," Jowan managed to say, his own voice thick with want. He slid off to the side so Alistair could move, leaning down to kiss his side-turned face as Alistair shifted position, folding his legs up under him, knees slightly spread, so that his hindquarters were lifted up in the air, head still lowered on folded arms, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Jowan remained crouched beside him for a moment, bending down to exchange another kiss with him, then moved around to kneel behind him.

A little more oil, another warmth spell. He swallowed nervously, then cupped his hands over Alistair's buttocks, rubbing them in small circles for a moment. He always found this moment... intimidating. Alistair was just so large, so_ powerful_, that it felt... strange, to be the one in this position. Like one of those yappy little lap dogs some noblewomen kept, trying to mount a mabari. Not a picture he needed in his head at this moment, he decided, and focused on Alistair instead, spread out and waiting patiently in front of him.

He moved his hands, one sliding down between Alistair's legs and forward to palm against his balls and cock, while the second slid between his cheeks, probing for and finding the puckered ring of muscle hidden there. He stroked his forefinger slowly around the edges of it, once, twice, then applied firm pressure, easing the tip of his finger inside. Alistair tensed momentarily as his finger slid slowly inside, then sighed and relaxed. He could feel the warrior's increased excitement, his erection hardening within Jowan's loose grip. He curled the finger and slowly withdrew it, then pressed in again, a little further each time, hearing Alistair's breath go deep and ragged as he worked closer to the sensitive spot inside.

He withdrew before quite reaching it, and shifted position slightly, sliding his hand out from between Alistair's legs, gripping his hip instead as he slid two fingers in, hearing Alistair's breath catch at the increased sensation. He took his time, easing his fingers in and out slowly, gradually working them apart, occasionally casting another warming spell to encourage tense muscles to relax. Three fingers, and Alistair was unable to hold still any more, little groans and gasps escaping as he pushed backwards every time Jowan pushed in, wanting more.

He was ready. They both were, hard and straining. He slipped his fingers free, and moved in close behind, still steadying himself against Alistair's hip with one hand while he slicked oil along himself, then guided his erection into position with the other. He chewed on his lower lip as he pushed forward, slowly, feeling the tight ring of muscle quiver and relax and allow him entry, sliding smoothly over the head of his erection as he eased himself forward. He held Alistair's hips still with both hands now as he slowly pushed his way in, both of them gasping with pleasure as he sank into warm, welcoming depths.

He paused once he was seated, allowing them both time to adjust. "Ready?" he gasped out after a while.

"Maker, _yes_," Alistair exclaimed, drawing a short laugh from Jowan. He drew back, till just his tip was still inside, then thrust smoothly forward, seating himself fully again, groaning in pleasure. Alistair gasped, then shifted position slightly, one knee going a bit more to the side, his back arching, as Jowan slid out again. And gave a hoarse cry when Jowan next thrust in, the change in position meaning Jowan's cock was pushing against just the right spot inside him now, stroking over it on every in-and-out thrust.

Jowan released his hold on Alistair's hips, curving his body down over Alistair's arched back, hands reaching around to cup and fondle his balls, palm against and then curl around his straining erection. Alistair freed one of the arms he'd been resting his head on, reaching back as well, his hand closing over top of Jowan's so that they were both enclosing his hard length. His own hips were rolling now, thrusting back against Jowan as he plunged in, then thrusting forward into their joined hands as Jowan pulled out.

A few strokes like that, and Alistair went tense, crying out, his seed spurting out against his stomach, wetting their hands. The feel of him clenching tightly around Jowan's erection as he came sent Jowan over the edge as well, his sharp cry rising like an echo of Alistair's. For a moment they stayed locked together, both of them tensed and shuddering as their orgasm and aftershocks continued. Finally they went slack, Alistair slumping down, Jowan draped tiredly over his back, both of them breathing deeply, catching their breaths. After a minute Jowan sat back, slipping free of Alistair. He got unsteadily to his feet, went into the washroom to fetch the washcloths they'd used earlier. He used one to wipe himself clean, rinsed both, then brought them out and knelt down to help Alistair clean up as well.

"Thanks," Alistair said, rolling over onto his side and wiping his hand and front clean, while Jowan dealt with the harder to reach places. Alistair took the cloth when he was done, dropped both to one side, and sat up, pulling Jowan into his lap and wrapping his arms around him, nuzzling in to the side of his neck. "That was good," he said, voice sounding thick and drowsy in the aftermath of pleasure. "I liked not having to be quiet."

Jowan laughed softly. "Me too," he agreed.

"I hope that's not the end of your plans," Alistair said, and then leaned back to grin at him. "That Grey Warden stamina."

Jowan snorted, grinned as well. "Don't worry, there's more to come. Though we want might to take a break and eat first. That Grey Warden hunger."

Alistair's stomach gurgled a loud agreement to the idea, making back of them laugh.

"So what did you buy for us?" Jowan asked, extricating himself from Alistair's grip and rising to his feet.

"Oh, this and that," Alistair said, eyes sparkling as he rose as well. "Come see."


	4. Earthquake

They ended up having a picnic on the bed, sitting with heads close together and bodies angled apart so that they could spread out all the little dishes of food between them. Jowan used his magic to heat and cool a few things to better temperatures, looking with interest at Alistair's purchases. "Cheese, fruit, berries, more cheese, pastries... what on earth are these little wrapped things, and should they be hot or cold? Where did you _get_ all of this?"

"They're some sort of pickled leaf wrapped around a filling of cooked grain and chopped meat, so I'm not sure which way would be better. And I ended up at the market outside, they only sell one kind of cheese inside Orzammar – made out of bronto milk, I was told – and I like variety."

"We'll try them both hot and cold then, to start, and figure out which way we prefer them," Jowan said, picking up a couple of the small dark green rolls and casting a different spell on each. He bit one in half, then offered the other half to Alistair. Alistair smiled and leaned forward, neatly lipping it off of Jowan's palm, pressing his lips to it in a brief kiss before sitting back and chewing. Jowan snorted softly, but smiled. He broke the second roll in half, inhaling appreciatively of the steam that rose from it, and held a half out to Alistair again, this time held in his fingertips instead of resting on the palm of his hand.

Alistair grinned, raising one eyebrow sardonically, then leaned forward again, one hand reaching out to steady Jowan's wrist, and carefully took the bit of roll between his teeth and drew it out of Jowan's grip, before making it vanish into his mouth. He leaned forward again, one cheek bulging comically around the bite of food, and licked Jowan's fingertips clean. "Mmmm," he hummed, then released Jowan's wrist, his eyes bright with amusement. "Good either way, I think."

Jowan laughed. They lay back against the headboard, feeding each other bits and pieces of things, sometimes sneaking in kisses, nibbles or licks at each other as well. Jowan only ate a little, not being particularly hungry yet, and took a fascinated pleasure in slicing off bits of the different cheeses and feeding them to Alistair, sometimes trying a sliver himself when Alistair seemed particularly enthralled by a specific sample.

Eventually even Alistair had eaten enough, and they cleared away the remains, piling them all up on a small side table near the bed – convenient for midnight snacking or breakfast in bed the next morning, Alistair joked – then curled up on the bed together, Alistair stretched out on his back with Jowan cuddled up against him, his head on his shoulder.

"So, do I get to find out what you have planned for next, now?" Alistair asked, eyes sparkling with excited curiosity, toying with Jowan's hair.

Jowan grinned. "Yes. It's... well, I hope it's something you'll like. It might be a little... frightening."

Alistair smiled warmly at him. "I trust you," he said. "What do you want to do? Blindfold me? Tie me up with ropes?"

Jowan shivered. "No, no ropes," he said softly. "But... a similar idea. Only with magic."

"You're not going to paralyse me, are you?" Alistair asked apprehensively. He didn't like the idea of not being able to move, to _touch_.

"No! You'll still be able to move, just..." Jowan paused, then grinned mischievously. "Not well. It might make you feel... kind of uncoordinated and helpless."

"Mmmm. At your mercy, you mean?" Alistair asked, one eyebrow arching upwards questioningly.

"Um. Yes. Do you mind?"

Alistair thought about it seriously for a moment, trying to picture it in his head, being helpless to resist whatever Jowan wanted to do to him... and found his breath shortening, a warm coil tightening in his groin. "I think it sounds... intriguing," he admitted.

Jowan's hand slid down, cupped briefly over his growing erection. "So I see," he purred, then removed his hand, and tilted his head back to look at Alistair, a serious expression on his face. "Before we do this... we need safe words."

"Safe words?" Alistair asked, puzzled. "What are those?"

"Something Zevran told me about. He said we should have them figured out before we try to do anything that might... scare or unnerve each other. It's supposed to be a word you wouldn't normally say when busy in bed together, and if you use it, it _always_ means _stop right now_."

Alistair frowned. "Why not just 'stop' or 'no' then?"

Jowan grinned, blushing a little. "He says that sometimes part of the fun is saying '_no, stop_' when what you really mean is '_if you stop doing that, I'll have to kill you_'. A safe word means you can do that, but still be able to let your partner know when you really mean _no_."

"Oh. That makes sense, I suppose," Alistair agreed.

"What word do you want to use then?" Jowan asked, looking curiously at him.

"Hmmm," Alistair rumbled, considering. "I don't know. Choose a word for me?"

Jowan snorted. "You're supposed to choose your own, but... all right." He sat up, looking evaluatingly at Alistair. Alistair felt himself blushing under the frank appraisal. Jowan grinned. "Rose, for the delightful way you blush with colour," he said, startling a bark of laughter out of the warrior. Jowan grinned and leaned down to kiss him. "Choose one for me," he told Alistair huskily.

Alistair returned the kiss, smiled lazily up at him. "Thorn," he whispered.

"Mmm. I like it," Jowan said, smiling approvingly. "Rose and thorn it is then."

Alistair nodded agreement. "Now what?" he asked.

"Now I need you to trust me," Jowan said. "While I have my evil way with you."

Alistair snickered. Jowan grinned, then moved to kneel beside Alistair. "I'm going to take things nice and slow at first," he told him. "So you can get used to how it feels. If it starts to be too much for you, just remember to use your word, right?"

Alistair smiled. "Okay," he agreed.

Jowan leaned down and kissed him, nibbling on his lips, slowly invading his mouth. He braced himself with one hand resting lightly on Alistair's shoulder, the other slipping around to cup the back of his neck. After a moment, Alistair felt a tingling, and felt like his whole body was going all loose and floppy. "What was that?" he asked a little nervously as Jowan sat back.

"Weakness spell," Jowan said, voice quiet and... _intense_, was the only word Alistair could think of. He ran a finger across the planes of Alistair's chest, a faint glowing line following in its wake. When he lifted his finger, the glow disappeared downwards, like water seeping down into sand. "Vulnerability hex, so my spells will take easier and hold for a little longer... you're pretty resistant to magic, you know."

Alistair nodded. "Almost-a-templar," he said agreeably.

"How's it feel so far?" Jowan asked curiously.

"Mmmm. Kind of nice. Like... like when you first wake up in the morning, and you _could _move, but you don't want to, you just want to lie there and do nothing for a while."

Jowan smiled. "Good, that's about right," he said. He moved to straddle Alistair's hips, leaning forward and down to kiss him, trapping their erections together between them. He kissed him very thoroughly, then shifted his attention from Alistair's mouth to the line of his jaw, licking and nibbling along the stubbled curve of his chin, then struck out down the column of his throat, nipping and sucking and kissing his way down to the hollow above where his collarbones met. He stayed there a while, licking delicately at the smooth skin there, nuzzling against the pulse points to other side.

Then he sat back upright, and spread his hands out on Alistair's shoulders. His eyes partially closed in concentration, then Alistair hissed as he felt a buzzing crackle of magic, shocks like static electricity except instead of one big shock there was a lot of little ones, everywhere Jowan's hands were touching. Not quite painful, not exactly pleasant, but some strange feeling in between the two. Jowan slowly drew his hands down Alistair's chest. The sensation was... incredible. When his hands reached Alistair's nipples Alistair cried out in surprise, feeling them stiffen and rise as shocks bit into the sensitive flesh. He felt himself arching his back, pressing up into Jowan's cupped palms, wanting _more_ of that prickling sensation.

Jowan slid his hands slowly apart, until just his thumbs still rested on Alistair's nipples, rubbing them in slow circles. His eyes were dark, just a paring of grey left around blown centres. Alistair wondered if his own eyes were as dark with want. Then Jowan's hands moved again, sliding down across his ribs, heaving as he panted for breath as more little shocks nipped into his skin. Down further, drawing close to his midline again as they slid across his stomach. And paused, just shy of his erection.

"Do you want me to touch you there," Jowan asked, voice a low growl, "Or do you think it'll be too much?"

Alistair shivered at the thought, stomach curling in reflexively. Just the thought of how that would feel, that pain-pleasure against his most sensitive parts... he whimpered, wanting and not-wanting in almost equal amounts. "I don't... I don't think I can take that," he managed to gasp out. "Unless you want to finish me _right now_." Just thinking of it had his hips thrusting up hard against Jowan.

Jowan nodded, and slid his hands slowly back upwards. He palmed Alistair's nipples again, drawing another strangled cry from him, and then the crackling magic faded away, leaving Alistair feeling shaken and aching with need.

He leaned down to cup the back of Alistair's neck again, and another wave of weakness passed through him, relaxing taut muscles. Then a second spell, and suddenly Alistair felt dizzy, his vision going unfocused and blurry, sounds oddly distant. He felt a weight come down on him, pressing him down into the bed.

"That should have disoriented you," he heard Jowan's voice say, whispered right in his ear. The weight must be Jowan, lying over top of him. He tried to move, to close his arms around Jowan, and it felt like the whole world spun. Whatever movement he had made, it wasn't what he'd tried to do. He felt his breathing speed up in near-panic, his heart pounding in his ribs. He remembered Jowan's earlier words. _Uncoordinated and helpless_. Yes, that certainly described how he was feeling right now.

He heard whimpering, realized it was himself making the noise and made himself stop. He closed his eyes, found that made the world seem at least a little more stable. Felt hands touch his face, thumbs stroking soothingly against his skin. "Are you okay? Or is it too much?" Jowan's voice again, near and warm.

He drew a couple of long shuddering breaths. "It's... a little scary," he managed to squeak out. "But I think I'm okay."

"Good," Jowan said softly.

Alistair felt his weight shift again, coming up off him, and wanted to whimper again at the loss of contact. Then Jowan's hands were back, long soothing strokes brushing along his arms, across his chest, down his belly. The dizziness was still there, but he felt himself relaxing again at the calming touches. The hands lifted away again, Jowan's weight lifting off him entirely, then he heard the muted glug of the oil jar, smelled the spicy scent of the oil. He opened his eyes. Moving his head very slowly seemed to avoid the world-spinning feeling, and the worst of the blurriness had gone, though it was hard to focus on anything. He saw Jowan kneeling on the bed beside him, rubbing his hands together, then the mage reached out, and a warm, oil-slicked hand closed around him, stroking smoothly up and down his length, smearing a coating of oil all over his cock. He groaned with pleasure, wanting to thrust but hesitant to try when he wasn't sure he could control his movements enough to do so. His eyes slid shut again, as he concentrated on the feeling of Jowan's hand stroking firmly up and down his length.

One of Jowan's hands tugged on his thigh, moving his leg to the side enough that he could reach down under and behind Alistair, gently pushing one finger into him. He gasped at the combined sensation of the oiled hand stroking him, the single finger questing inward, probing, until it pressed hard and firm against the sensitive spot inside. He felt himself move then, thrusting convulsively up off the bed, muscles doing by instinct what he didn't think he could have consciously managed at this point. And then another spark of magic, and he felt a strange quivering in his flesh, deep inside him.

"_Maker!_ What..." he gasped, then gave a wordless cry, torn between thrusting up into the oiled hand or down onto the finger. The decision was taken from him, both withdrawing. He moaned, feeling that strange fluttering quiver continuing on deep inside, his hips jerking convulsively as he sought more sensation, more friction, _anything_...

"You like that?" Jowan asked, a deep purr of sound.

"_Yes!_" he choked out. "What did you _do!_"

He could hear the smug pleasure in Jowan's voice as he answered. "A very localized earthquake spell. Just a little one."

He heard Jowan's breath hitch, and forced his eyes open again. Jowan was kneeling upright beside him, arched backward, one hand out of sight behind him. Preparing himself, he guessed, and groaned again at the thought. Jowan looked down at him, smiled, then after a while moved to straddle him again, hands pressing down firmly on his hips for a moment, soothing him into stillness. Jowan carefully lined himself up, then began to slowly sink down, hands moving upwards to brace against Alistair's chest.

Alistair moaned as he felt the hot warm tightness enclosing him, sinking slowly down his length, heard Jowan moaning as well, gasping and panting as he sunk down, gradually enveloping all of Alistair's length. His hands were shaking slightly where they rested on Alistair's chest. They slid jerkily across his skin, coming to rest over his still-sensitized nipples. He whimpered, then cried out as Jowan's hands flared with static-y sensation again, and felt himself snap into motion, arching his back to press against the hands, then falling back, his hips beginning a rolling thrusting movement. Jowan cried out as well, and then they were both moving, together and apart and together again, and he was lost in the riot of different sensations, the dizziness and the wave-like motion of his own body, the deep shivering quiver, the little biting shocks, the warmth and tightness and glide of skin and muscle against skin and muscle.

It felt like the world went away as he came, whited out, his ears filled with his own hoarse shout, with Jowan's keening cry. The aftershocks seemed to go on forever, driven by the fading quake deep inside him. Jowan collapsed limply over top of him, and he somehow managed to get his limp, spastically jerking arms to obey him for long enough to lift up, drop down, enclosing Jowan in as close to a hug as he could manage.

Jowan made a soft, appreciative sound, nosed against his chest for a moment. "Good?" he heard the mage ask, voice thin and thready and tired, breath warm against his skin.

"Very good," he agreed, and hugged him close as the weakness and dizziness began to slowly recede.


	5. Aftershock

As the feeling of unnatural lassitude faded, Alistair found himself feeling surprisingly full of energy when he'd have expected to feel tired out and ready to sleep after everything they'd already done this evening. More, with the return of the ability to control his movements again, he _wanted_ to move, to touch. He wiggled around, settling Jowan more comfortably over top of him, then began stroking his hands up and down the smaller man's back. Jowan made a half-asleep appreciative sound, snuggled against him.

He really should be tired too, especially after that last round. That had definitely been... very _different_ than anything they'd tried together before. And exciting. He certainly wouldn't mind trying it again some time, at least parts of it. Thinking about how it had felt, the combination of helplessness and excitement and that deep inside quivering... he shivered, and felt a part of him stir to life again. "Andraste wept," he muttered.

"Mmmm?" Jowan said, then shifted, and stilled again as he felt the stiffening erection against his thigh. "Oh. Already?" he asked, sounding surprised and very amused.

Alistair laughed softly. "Yes. That damn Grey Warden stamina again. Umm. Do you mind...?"

Jowan snickered, then yawned sleepily against the skin of his chest. "Feel free. Just... don't expect much out of me."

"That's fine," Alistair said quietly. "I'll take care of everything."

He rolled over on his side, gently lowering Jowan onto the bed. He should clean them up a little first, he decided, and went off in search of fresh washcloths. He wiped them both down, removing the traces of their earlier activity, then gently arranged Jowan on his back, a pillow under his hips. He found the bottle of oil, and carefully applied a fresh coat to himself as he knelt between Jowan's legs.

Jowan was still awake, his eyes just barely open, a faint smile crossing his lips as he watched Alistair prepare. "Mmmm," he hummed appreciatively, smile widening slightly as his appraisal made Alistair blush yet again. "Yum."

Alistair snorted, then scooted a little closer, frowning as he planned how to go about this. He took hold of Jowan's legs just behind each knee, pushing gently up and then to the sides as they folded, spreading him wide. "Think you can hold on?" he asked softly.

Jowan blinked tiredly, then hesitantly reached up, hooking his hands behind his own knees. "Not for long," he warned, voice muzzy with sleepiness.

"That's okay," Alistair said, and carefully positioned himself, then pushed slowly forward. Jowan was still loose and slick from riding him, and he slid in easily, almost effortlessly. He carefully rearranged himself once he was in, leaning forward with an arm to either side of Jowan's torso, letting his knees slide back a little on the bed, so most of his weight was on his knees and hands, just a fraction of his weight coming down where they were so intimately connected.

"You can let go now," he said softly. Jowan made an acknowledging sound and his hands dropped back to his sides, his legs closing slightly to either side of Alistair's torso.

Very, very gently, Alistair began to rock his hips back and forth. Jowan made a quiet, pleased little humming sound. One of his hands rose, skating shakily up Alistair's arm, along his shoulder, twined into the hair at the back of his neck. He tugged, and Alistair carefully leaned down, shifting so his weight was on bent forearms instead of his hands. They shared a sweet, lingering kiss as he kept up a slow, gentle rocking moment.

"This feel good?" he asked softly as the kiss ended.

Jowan gave him a slow, dreamy smile. "Mmmm, yes. Like floating." His other arm came up, and he draped them both loosely over Alistair's shoulders, hands twitching a little as if he wanted to do more, but just couldn't muster the energy for it.

Even warden stamina couldn't overcome very quickly all that had gone before; it was going to be a while before he came. But that was fine. Just being like this, curled over Jowan, in Jowan's arms, _in_ Jowan, the slow smouldering build of pleasure in his groin as they rocked back and forth... this was enough. Better than enough, almost perfection, an endlessly long moment that stretched out and out and out without breaking. He could be like this forever and be happy. He felt a stirring against his belly, knew Jowan was hardening again too; not much, but enough. His eyes were half-open, pupils blown again, his breathing suddenly little panting gasps, with pleasured moans each time Alistair's hips thrust forward. His arms tightened around Alistair's shoulders, legs pressing firmly into his sides, as his building pleasure roused him briefly from his somnolent state.

The sounds, the change in pressure... Alistair began thrusting harder, more aggressively, hips snapping forward, as his own slow arousal suddenly began to crest. He heard Jowan cry out softly, felt hot moisture smearing against the skin of his belly and knew the mage had come. He snapped forward one last time, going tense and crying out as he, too, spilled his seed.

Now he was tired, tired and wanting to rest. He carefully extricated himself from the exhausted mage's arms, picked up the clean washcloth he'd left in reach on the bedside table, and gently wiped them both clean a final time. Jowan's eyes fluttered closed even as he wiped him down. He dropped the cloth onto the floor, carefully rolled Jowan onto his side and then sat down behind him. He pulled up the piled sheets they'd earlier kicked to the foot of the bed, drawing them up to cover both of them, then wiggled around and lay down, spooned against Jowan, one arm stretched out under his head, the other draped over his waist.

He smiled, feeling the long slow sleeping breaths of the mage, and closed his own eyes, quickly dropping down into darkness and dreams as well.


	6. Misunderstandings

Jowan woke slowly, feeling warm and comfortable. He could feel warm breath gusting against the back of his neck, the slow rise and fall of Alistair's chest against his back. He could have quite happily stayed like that, spooned up against the warrior, were it not for little matters like an overly full bladder and an overly empty stomach. He really should have eaten more earlier, but then he hadn't been expecting to use up quite so much energy in love-making afterwards.

He carefully extricated himself from the cuddle and slid out of bed, being careful not to wake Alistair. He stretched after rising to his feet, scratching at his ribs and smiling warmly at the sleeping man. Maker, he was still tired... tired and a little sore. He padded barefoot off to the bathing chamber, making use of the well-built and surprisingly odour-free facilities – a huge improvement over what was typically available up on the surface – then ran some water into the sink and took a minute to give himself a slightly more thorough cleaning then he'd had before dropping off into exhausted slumber. He was still going to need a real bath come morning – his and Alistair's athletic efforts had entirely undone all benefit of their earlier ablutions – but at least he could return to the bedroom feeling a little fresher.

His stomach was feeling almost painfully empty by the time he returned to the bedroom. There was almost no light, just the faintest of glows from the few coals left in the banked ashes in the fireplace. He summoned a small glowing ball of mage light, and set it down on the side table near the remains of their earlier meal, then started hungrily picking over the remains, munching on bits of pastry, slices of cheese, the last of the berries.

There was a piece of fruit they'd never gotten around to trying, about the size of both his fists together, with a thick leathery rind. He picked it up and sniffed it, felt his mouth begin to water at the strong, rather citrus-y scent of it. Picking up the knife they'd been using for cutting up the cheese, he set the tip to the tough skin and tried to cut it. The rind gave just enough under the pressure that the knife didn't want to cut into it. He cursed quietly, shifted his grip, and tried again.

Just then Alistair cried out and began thrashing around in bed. Jowan jumped, startled, the knife skittering over the leathery skin of the fruit before it dropped to the floor and rolled away under the table. He froze, staring sickly at his hand as he realized that he'd just stabbed his own palm, deeply enough for the knife tip to be emerging out the back of his hand. Not, he reminded himself, that this wasn't the first time he'd done that, but he'd _meant _to do that the last time it had happened. The flood of memories that this accidental stabbing brought back made him sway, overwhelmed for a moment. Fear, Lily, rejection, the shocked horror on Owen and Mara's faces, the blankness and then appalled look on Lily's as she backed away from him...

And then his body caught up with recent events and he finally _felt_ what he'd just done. He mewed in pain, and yanked the blade free, dropping it to the floor before clenching his unharmed hand tightly around his wrist. Maker, it hurt! He needed to concentrate, cast a healing spell and _fix_ this...

He heard Alistair stirring, and turned toward the bed, taking a step forward. He heard a choked cry of fear and horror, then the world went blue-white, then black, then away.

* * *

><p>"Wynne, Wynne! Wake up," Alistair called, pounding on the elderly mage's door.. "I need your help!"<p>

The door opened, a night-gown clad Wynne frowning and then looking mildly surprised as she took in Alistair's panicked and near-naked state. He'd taken a moment to wrap a sheet around his waist before dashing out the door and down the hallway to her room, but it was already slipping down his hips and threatening to part ways with him, and it was rather obvious that it was the only thing he was currently wearing.

"What's wrong, Alistair?" she asked, a concerned frown marring her usual calm expression.

"It's Jowan... there's been an accident... he needs a healer," he gasped out, then turned and ran back toward his room, grabbing at the slipping blanket and hitching it higher around his hips.

Wynne hurried after him, frowning worriedly. Whatever could have happened... seeing how dim the room was as they entered it, she hastily summoned a bright ball of mage light, setting it circling over her head, then gasped at the scene that met her eyes.

Jowan lay sprawled on the floor against one wall, naked and out cold, a deep pool of blood spreading out from his left hand where it lay lax and motionless on the floor. A bloody knife lay on the floor near the bed.

"Andraste's flame!" she exclaimed as she hurried over and dropped to her knees, ignoring the blood that immediately started soaking into the knees of her nightgown as she lifted Jowan's injured hand, cradled it carefully in her own as she examined the deep cut. "What _happened!_"

"I... I'm not entirely sure," Alistair answered, sounding miserable. "I was having a nightmare... of us, clearing the tower, the blood mages there... _you_ remember what it was like," he said, shakily. "And I opened my eyes and he was standing over me, blood running down his hand and casting something, and... and my templar training kicked in, and I smited him."

"Smote him, dear," Wynne corrected distractedly as she carefully flexed Jowan's fingers, eyes half-closed in concentration.

"Smited, smote, whatever... and he went flying, right into the wall, and... and I heard his head smack into the stone..." Alistair was babbling now, looking sick. "And then he was bleeding everywhere, and I went to get you."

Wynne gave him a worried look, then changed to a one-handed grip on Jowan's wrist and scooted forward a little, leaning down to feel gently at the back of Jowan's head with her free hand. Her lips pressed together in a thin line. "I don't think you've cracked his skull, but I'll have to take a closer look once I'd healed this," she said, and bent over his hand again, a glow springing up around her hands as she carefully worked her healing magic, healing the gash until there was nothing left but a fine scar on either side of his hand.

That done, she moved around to kneel by his head, carefully feeling his neck and back before lifting his head into her lap. Her fingers spread out across the back of his head, and the healing glow rose again.

"Is he going to be all right?" Alistair asked anxiously.

"I believe so," Wynne assured him. "He's taken no permanent damage, anyway. Though..." she frowned down at the mage as she lowered his head to the floor again. "I am very worried about how he came to cut his hand. Was it an accident, or... were your instincts right, and he was trying to perform some act of blood magic while you slept."

"I... I don't know," Alistair said miserably. "What should we do, Wynne?"

She sighed, and rose to her feet, grimacing and lifting the skirt of her nightgown in both hands to shift the blood-soaked fabric away from his skin. "Well, I for one am going to go bathe and change. I'd suggest you move Jowan, and clean up this mess. And..." she stared down at the unconscious mage for a long moment, then shook her head regretfully. "Bind him for now. We can sort this out once he wakes up. Hopefully there's an innocent explanation for what happened. I'll be back soon."

"All right," Alistair said, looking even more miserable than before. "Thank you, Wynne."

"It's no problem, my dear," she said, then turned and walked out of the room.

Alistair closed the door behind her, then quickly dropped the sheet and pulled on his smallclothes and leggings. He knelt down and carefully lifted up Jowan, carrying him over to the folded quilt that still lay on the floor near the fireplace. He grimaced at the damp stain on its top surface, and balanced precariously on one foot while flipping it over with the other, further away from the fire. He knelt down, lowering Jowan's unconscious form onto the quilt, making a face as dark stains spread out across the pale fabric as it wicked blood away from his hand, arm and side.

He fetched the damp washcloths scattered near the bed, and knelt down, cleaning up the worse of the mess daubed all over Jowan's left side, casting the blood-stained rags into the fire and then adding some tinder and a couple of small logs over top of the still-smouldering coals. A fire would be good; he was feeling chilled now that his panicked excitement was fading, and suspected Jowan likely was as well. And then, remembering Wynne's instructions, he fetched some rope from his pack and carefully bound the mage. They'd had actual _lessons_ on how to properly do that, back in his templar training days, the ankles hobbled together, then the rope running up from that to bind the wrists and elbows together behind the mage's back. His hands went automatically through the well-rehearsed movements, though it had been... hmmm, almost two years now since he'd last had to demonstrate that he knew the right bindings.

He made Jowan as comfortable as he could, then dug out an old patched shirt that wasn't good for much more than cleaning rags now anyway, and used it to sop up the puddled, congealing blood from the floor. He picked up the fallen knife between two fingertips, and used a clean spot on the tail of the shirt to wipe it clean. He recognized it now, he'd seen it in Jowan's hand the evening before as Jowan cut bits of cheese and fruit to share with him. He frowned at the remains of their feast on the side table, feeling unsure. Maybe it had been totally innocent, and Jowan had somehow cut himself when he'd meant to cut a piece of cheese or something? But... he shook his head. There was no blood near the table itself, nothing on the table that was likely to be tricky to cut, not unless one of the cheeses was concealing an unusually resistant rind.

Thought of cheese woke his stomach up. He put the knife aside, not wanting to use it on food until it had been properly cleaned, and walked over to fetch his own belt knife from where it lay abandoned with his armour from the night before. He started to walk back over to the food, then paused, standing and looking down at the bound mage.

No. This wasn't right, tying him up like that over what may well have been some kind of accident or misunderstanding. He was sure Wynne had her reasons for why she'd felt they should bind Jowan, but after all these weeks together, everything that had happened between them, he _trusted_ the man. There must be some reasonable explanation for what had happened. He knelt down beside him, started to reach to cut the ropes and free his arms.

Jowan's eyes snapped open. He gasped in fright, flinching away from Alistair, pupils contracting to near-pinpoints, then screamed. And kept screaming, throat-tearingly loud shrieks of terror that had Alistair scrambling away from him, almost falling over backwards, in his shock and fright at Jowan's reaction.

The door slammed open, Zevran running in clad in nothing but his smallclothes, looking wild-eyed, a dagger in each hand. He took in the scene, a naked, blood-spattered and bound Jowan lying on the floor thrashing around and screaming in near-mindless terror, Alistair sprawled nearby, a knife in hand, and scowled angrily, moving to stand over the mage, daggers turned threateningly toward Alistair. "_What have you done to the mage!_" he snarled.


	7. Nightmares

He'd been in so much despair after fleeing the Tower; Lily hated him, he'd lost the trust of his friends, lost his home, was under threat of tranquillity or death... he'd ran, yes, but he didn't know any more why he'd bothered. What did he have left to live for, when he'd already lost everything he'd ever wanted? He wanted to die. He belonged dead, at least then he couldn't harm anyone else...

And then walking along a dusty laneway one day, he walked right into an ambush. He had only a moment to recognize the armoured forms stepping out of the bushes as templars, and then they smote him, not just one of them, but all of them at once, the world going blue-white, the pressure buffeting against him from all sides, driving the very air from his lungs, before he dropped down to the ground, the world going black, then away. And realized, even as he dropped, that he still wanted to live. He didn't want his too-short life to end like this.

He woke tied up and drained of mana, lying on his side on the ground, a templar bending over him, feeling sore and bruised all over. There were four of them, he quickly learned, Captain Irminric and his patrol of men – Hage, Domric, and Sarro. Irminric was all right, like a younger, softer version of Greagoir, all stiff with honour and determined to do the right thing. Sarro was just a kid, newly a templar, on his first-ever patrol. He was the kind one, the one who thought to check things like that the ropes weren't tied so tightly that they cut off circulation. Domric was like the templars at the tower – there, doing his job, bored more often then not, with little interest in anything beyond getting this job over with and having a little time off before his next patrol.

Hage... Hage was a nightmare. Jowan had heard of templars like him, but never encountered one before; Greagoir didn't tolerate his kind in the tower. A bully, cruel, rapacious... under Captain Irminric's watchful eye there was very little that he actually dared to do to Jowan, but when it was his turn to guard their prisoner he would talk, a whisper of sound only just loud enough for Jowan to hear. He would spend the hours of his watch sitting nearby, whispering his dark fantasies, telling Jowan in horrific, stomach churning detail exactly what he wanted to do to the mage. Promising him that he _would_ do it all, later, in Denerim, before the mage was made tranquil or killed.

"Whether they kill you or just neutralize you, we'll give you a fine farewell party first, me and me friends," he'd promised, an evil leer on his face. "Don't doubt that we will... we've done it before. And no one will stop it; the head jailor is one of us. He'll set it all up."

By the time they were in sight of Denerim, he felt so sick at heart he couldn't even keep any food down, could only force himself to keep his legs moving because it was Hage at his back, and stopping walking would give Hage an excuse to set hands on him. His despair was even deeper then it had been after fleeing the tower, and he wished he had been killed outright instead of captured. He still wanted to live, _desperately_ wanted to live, but he saw the shape of the fate waiting for him in Denerim and it _terrified_ him.

And then they'd been attacked and captured by Howe's men, and taken in secret to that madman's dungeons. Domric had been lucky – he'd taken a head injury in the attack, and died from it without ever waking up. Sarro and Hage... what Howe and his torturers did to them before they died exceeded even the horrific things Hage had described. No one deserved to die like that. Not even Hage. And then Howe offered him freedom, for a price, once he'd seen what the alternative would be, if he refused to do as Howe instructed him. He said yes – he'd have done anything by then, to avoid the fate he'd seen come to the two templars. Almost anything.

So he'd agreed, and done as Howe told him, and ended up in a dungeon again anyway, though thankfully the imaginations of Isolde and the guardsmen she had used to torment him with had been nowhere near as viciously creative as Hage or Howe. It had been bad, very bad, but compared to those madmen... well, he'd survived it, the long time in darkness, lit occasionally by flicking torches as Isolde stood by, demanding answers he didn't have while some guardsman, stripped down to his breeches, worked Jowan over.

His mind had blurred and buried deeply the memories of his time as the templars' captive, in Howe's dungeon, in Isolde's hands. But he still had nightmares. Nightmares of being tied, helpless, in Hage's hands. Nightmares of it being _him_ stretched out helpless under Howe's clever knives. Nightmares of faceless, nameless men beating him by flickering torchlight. Nightmares of lying hurt, breathing in the stench of blood, of old rusting metal, of sweat and armour polish, rotting straw, shit and piss and vomit, and fearing he would die there, in the stinking darkness.

And then he woke, mana-drained and tied up and bruised, in firelit darkness that smelled of blood and armour, sweat and sex. A half-naked man loomed over him, rendered a dark silhouette by the flickering fire behind him, a knife glittering evilly in one hand as he bent down over Jowan, and every memory of those terrible times returned, every whispered threat, every promised cruelty, every bloody reality.

And he screamed, and couldn't stop screaming.


	8. Rescue

There was enough light he could see it wasn't some nameless faceless tormentor, it was Alistair, _his_ Alistair, and he shouldn't be scared of Alistair but just _looking_ at him frightened him. He was so big, just like the templars had been big, just like the guardsmen had been big, and he was dressed like them and moved like them and smelled like them, and Jowan was tied up and without his mana and _terrified_. He jerked and struggled mindlessly against the ropes, needing desperately to be free, to get away from the scents in this room, the combination of odours smelling more and more like the remembered stench of the dungeons the longer he breathed it in, or he was going to go utterly mad.

And then there was someone else there, standing over him, sounding angry, and for a moment he was even more terrified, until he realized they weren't angry at him, but at Alistair, and caught a whiff of sandalwood-and-musk. He knew that scent. It meant Zevran, a friend, someone _safe_.

He remembered, then, that he had a word that was supposed to make things stop if they got too overwhelming.

"Thorn," he gasped out, burying his head against the fabric under him. Quilt, his mind said. Blood and sex and sweat, his nose reminded him, conflicting memories spawned by the different scents filling his head. "Thornthornthornthorn..."

* * *

><p>Zevran started, stared down at the naked man curled face-first into the quilt between his feet, chanting a single word over and over again. "What...!" he said, puzzled.<p>

"That's his safe word," Alistair gasped, looking shocked.

"_Braska!_" the elf swore, and stepped back, dropping into a crouch and quickly slicing apart the ropes that bound Jowan. Freed, the mage lunged upright, grabbing desperately on to the near-naked elf, almost knocking him over backwards before burying his face against Zevran's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. The assassin closed his arms carefully around him, daggers still held in his hands, and glared at Alistair. "Was this some sort of sex-game the two of you were playing?" he asked suspiciously.

"Maker, no!" Alistair exclaimed, looking horrified. "I... it's... it's a long story," he said, and stepped closer, looking anxious. "Jowan?"

Jowan gave a short mewing cry and flinched away from his approach, arms tightening around Zevran.

"Alistair... move away," Zevran said, voice sharp. "You're scaring him."

Alistair's hands clenched, but he did as told, backing away and then dropping down to sit on the floor near the fireplace, looking miserable, eyes watching Jowan anxiously.

Zevran bent down, murmuring softly to the panicked mage in his arms. "Shhh, Jowan, you're safe, I have you. What is wrong?"

Jowan shuddered, tried to answer, then shook his head, weeping harder.

Zevran frowned, pressed his lips together. Something had the mage almost mindless with fear. Something here, or some combination of things here, had frightened him badly, to reduce him to this state. Well, that was something he knew how to deal with. Take the mage away from whatever it was, and wait for him to calm down.

"I'm taking him to my room," he said, glaring again at Alistair, certain that whatever it was, was related to something the warrior had done. "_You_ stay here."

"I... yes, Zevran," the warrior said, miserably, and watched as Zevran rose, with some difficulty – the mage, while small for a human, was still slightly larger and a little heavier than the elf was – and coaxed the mage into motion, walking him out of the room and down the hallway to his own door.

Once he'd kicked it shut behind him Jowan collapsed, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Zevran managed to lower him into a sitting position on the floor, tossed his daggers to the side, then gently grasped his head, tilting his face up to peer at him. The mage's skin was cool and damp, his pupils dilated, and Zevran could feel how hard his heart was beating, his entire body shaking with faint tremors. He caught a faint whiff of urine, and suspected the man had been scared enough that he'd voided himself; thankfully there hadn't been much to come out.

"Wait here, _poco mago_," he said softly. He quickly tended the banked fire, brightening and warming the room, then fetched water and washcloths from his bathing chamber, and a pair of clean shirts from his backpack. He crouched down beside Jowan, and dampened two cloths, put one in the mage's hand, and then began gently wiping him clean of the part-dried smears of blood that liberally coated his left side, rinsing the cloth frequently. It looked like someone had made a start on cleaning him up previously; Alistair, he guessed, and wondered again just what had happened before his own entry to the room. He didn't see any wounds on Jowan, and there hadn't been any on Alistair either, at least none that he'd seen. Of course, Jowan was a mage and knew some healing magics, so that didn't necessarily signify anything,

He talked softly while he worked, nothing particularly important, just a long rambling tale about one of his many adventures back in Antiva. It wasn't the words that were important, after all, it was the tone of voice, and letting the mageling know that he was somewhere safe, with someone safe. Well, he grinned to himself, for a given value of _safe_ anyway. He knew himself well enough to know he was a profoundly _dangerous_ man. Just not at this moment, or to this particular person. Though he might have need to be dangerous once he'd found out just what had upset the little mage so deeply.

After a while, the gentle touching as he wiped clean the mage and his low, soft voice worked the magic he'd hoped they would. Jowan's shaking receded, and he began dabbing at himself with the wet cloth in his hand. Completely uncoordinated and ineffective, but at least he was coming out of the worst of whatever fear had gripped him. Zevran was watching for it, and moved out of the way and had the bowl of wash water slid under his head, when Jowan abruptly leaned to one side and vomited copiously. He quickly carried off and disposed of the mess, before it could stink up the place, and when he returned he made sure to bring along one of the nice large soft towels the bathing chamber was so amply stocked with. Jowan was lying limply on his side on the floor, and remained quiet as Zevran helped him to sit up again, then briskly rubbed him dry. He kept up the rubbing even after the mage was dry, until his skin had warmed to the touch, the paleness of shock beginning to give way to a faint flush of healthy colour.

"Come, _mi amigo_," he said softly, and got the mage to his feet and moved away from the damp area on the floor, then helped him into one of the two shirts before pulling one on himself – thankfully both were loose, flowing things so they fit even the mage's somewhat broader form adequately well. He led him over to the bed, and got him lying down and well-cocooned in blankets. He could see exhaustion trying to claim the mage, and that the man was fighting it.

"If you trust me, I can give you something that will make you sleep dreamlessly for a while," he said softly, taking the mage's hands in his and gently massaging them. "Will you allow me to do that, Jowan?"

His eyes widened in fear, but he nodded once, jerkily. "Please," he gasped out.

Zevran gave his hands a final squeeze, then fetched his belt, sitting down and quickly sorting through the little vials of poison, each nestled safely into a different well-padded compartment of the pouch hanging from one side of it. "I will need to cut you," he said softly. "Just a tiny nick. It is something that must go into your blood to work. May I?"

Jowan shuddered, but nodded, before turning his head away and screwing his eyes tightly shut. Zevran used his littlest knife for the work, keeping it hidden out of sight in his hand, making the smallest of cuts and then using the knife tip to press a single tiny droplet of poison into the little wound. He counted under his breath, and after a few seconds felt the mage give a final shudder before going from tense and frightened to bonelessly relaxed and deeply asleep. He carefully recapped and put away the vial – a very expensive and very potent poison, it took only three drops to kill even a quite large man, working to relax the muscles so thoroughly that even breathing and the beating of the heart became impossible. In tiny amounts it did as he'd used it for here, sent someone into deeply relaxed, dreamless unconsciousness. One had to be careful using it for such though; it tended to linger in the body, and used too often could build up to a lethal dose.

He smoothed the mage's hair back from his face, frowning in thought, then sighed. He wouldn't find answers here, not before Jowan woke again anyway. Best to go and question Alistair, and find out just what had happened. He finished dressing, returning his daggers to their sheaths, checked on the mage again, and then marched back down the hallway to Alistair's room.

Alistair was still sitting on the floor, looking dejected, and Wynne was there as well, looking concerned, her hands knotted in the fabric of her robe. Zevran looked back and forth between the two of them as he closed the door behind him. "So," he said coldly. "Would the two of you mind telling me just what happened in here last night?"


	9. Explanations

Alistair looked anxiously up at the assassin. "Is he going to be all right?" he asked.

The assassin frowned down at him. "I don't know yet," he said sharply. "Now tell me – _what happened!_"

Alistair winced at the cold current of anger in the elf's voice. Not that he didn't deserve every speck of it, he feared. "I... we... we'd spent the evening in, together. It was... everything was great. Then we went to sleep afterwards, and I had a nightmare. About being back in the Tower, that night we cleared it, all those demons and abominations and blood mages..." he stopped, panting in stress just at the memory of. "I woke," he continued softly. "Jowan was standing over me, blood running down his hand, his arm... he was casting a spell..."

Zevran relaxed fractionally. "Let me guess. You used that templar skill on him... Holy Smite?" he asked cautiously.

Alistair nodded. "Yes. It threw him against the wall. And then I went and got Wynne. He was bleeding _so much_, and the _sound_ when he'd hit the wall..." he stopped, shuddering, eyes large and frightened-looking from the memory.

Wynne glanced at the distraught warrior and then looked to Zevran, picking up the tale. "Alistair brought me here, and I healed Jowan. He had stabbed right through his hand, and had taken a rather nasty blow to the back of his head when he bounced off of the wall, but apart from that was only bruised. I healed him, then went to clean up... I'd been kneeling in his blood," she explained, voice dry and clinical. "I advised Alistair to do what he could to clean up the mess, and..." she paused, drew a deep breath, and sighed regretfully. "I also told him he should bind Jowan until he woke, and we had a chance to sort out just what exactly had happened. Whether he'd cut himself accidentally, or was working blood magic while Alistair slept. I did not think being tied up briefly would harm him."

Zevran muttered a curse. "That depends entirely on just what his previous experiences with _being bound_ involved, my dear Wynne," he said, voice clipped. "Judging by his reaction on waking, I would assume they were not pleasant ones. He may well have been _harmed_ by this, though I hope not irreparably."

Alistair groaned at that, remembering Jowan's stark terror. He buried his face in his hands, hating himself for what he'd inadvertently done to the mage, remembering suddenly the way Jowan had shivered when he'd jokingly asked if he planned to tie Alistair up, the little hitch in his voice as he'd said "No, no ropes". He _knew_ Jowan had been in the hands of templars before, Jowan himself had told them that, back when they'd first encountered him in the dungeon at Redcliffe. _Told_ them that he's been captured by templars and was being taken to Denerim by them before they were captured in turn by the Regent's men. Alistair felt sick, realizing he'd tied him up exactly the way they would have – exactly the way a templar was _trained_ to bind a mage, to keep them as helpless as possible but still able to walk...

"Alistair. _Alistair_."

Zevran's voice. It took him a moment to realize the Antivan was talking to him. "Yes?" he asked dully.

Zevran sighed, then knelt down, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Now is not the time for self-recriminations, my friend," he said quietly. "Now is the time for helping Jowan, yes? So, I need you to show me where he was standing, where he fell, everything. All right?"

"Okay," Alistair agreed, and rose to his feet, feeling shaky still, but a little less so now that someone was taking charge of the situation. "I was lying on the bed, and when I woke he was... umm, about _here_," he said, moving to stand between the side table and the bed. He turned and pointed at the wall, the bloody smears still left on the floor where he'd cleaned up the worst of the blood still clearly visible. "He hit the wall over there, and lay there until he was healed, then I carried him over to the quilt and... and cleaned him up a bit, and tied him."

Zevran walked over and looked around frowning. "And did you find the knife he'd used?"

"Yes, that's it there on the table," Alistair gestured.

"Is this where you found it?"

"No, it was on the floor, there," he said, pointing to a spatter of blood on the floor between where he stood and the side table.

Zevran walked over and stood looking down at the spatter for a moment, then looked at the scattered dishes of leftovers on the table. "Hmmm," he said, then dropped to his hands and knees, head close to the floor, and peered under the nearby furniture. "A-ha!" he exclaimed, and moved over to the table, craning forward and picking up something from between one back leg and the wall. He rose with it in his hand, turning it over and quickly scrutinizing it, ran his thumb over the rind. "_Not_ blood magic," he said decisively, before reaching out and placing it in Alistair's hand.

Alistair stared dumbly down at the large thick-skinned fruit, seeing the bruised spot on the leathery rind, the deep scratch leading away from it. Almost a cut, the sort of mark a knife point would make, slipping along the surface...

"Thank the Maker," he said, faintly.

"Don't be too quick to give thanks," Zevran said sharply. "That just shows that there was an innocent reason behind Jowan's cut hand. It does not fix what happened afterwards as a result of your... impetuousness."

Alistair nodded. "My _stupidity_ you mean. I know. It's just... I _trust_ him, Zevran. It would have killed me if he'd turned back to blood magic. Without a damned good reason for it, anyway."

"Better if you'd remembered that trust _before _you bound him hand and foot," Zevran said icily.

"_I know that!_" Alistair all but shouted, then repeated it, quietly, brokenly, blinking back tears. "I know that. I'd realized it, and was about to cut him loose, when he woke up. If only..." he groaned, and dissolved in tears, sinking down on the edge of the bed.

* * *

><p>Zevran frowned at the distraught warrior. Well, at least it had been proven to everyone's satisfaction that the mage had <em>not<em> been performing blood magic, and proven with reasonable certainty to him that Alistair's actions had not been been some perverse cruelty toward the man he professed to care for; not when he was so deeply upset over what had happened.

Wynne hurried over and sat down beside Alistair, trying to comfort him. He ended up crying on her shoulder, which should have looked ridiculous – the big muscular warrior sobbing while the elderly mage patted comfortingly at his shoulder – but didn't. "I'm so sorry, Alistair," she said. "This was all my fault. I should never have suggested that you tie him up."

Zevran kept silent on his agreement with that statement; overall he liked the mage, even if she did have a tendency to be noisy and bossy at times. Besides, someone needed to take care of Alistair, and it couldn't be him – he already had a mage to tend. Speaking of which...

"I should go," he said. "I will be back to talk to you again later, Alistair, once Jowan has woken and I have had a chance to see how he is doing. All right?"

Alistair sat up, scrubbed tiredly at his tear-stained face. "Yes. I'll... be here," he said, and looked blankly around the room, still a mess. "I should clean up, I guess," he said, more than a little forlornly.

"I'll help," Wynne said, then looked at Zevran. "Unless you need my help with Jowan...?"

"No, I know well what to do for him. I will seek you out if needed, but unless he took some physical harm last night that you missed mending already, I do not think it will be needed. Though if you wish to comfort _me_ by allowing me to cry on your _magnificent _bosom as well..." he trailed off, grinning at the elderly mage.

She glared at him, the glare softening slightly as Alistair gave a strangled laugh and relaxed a little more. Wynne gave just the slightest nod of her head, acknowledging that his comment had been to soothe Alistair, not to bate her, and then turned to the task of overseeing the room's cleaning. Zevran left, sure that she'd stay with Alistair until the warrior was past the worst of his current upset.

Now he just hoped things would prove as easy to rectify with Jowan, with just a good cry and a small joke. Unfortunately, he doubted such would prove to be the case; not with as deep a trauma as the mage had appeared to be undergoing.


	10. Awakening

Jowan felt a moment of panic on waking, until the first breath he took drew in the scents of sandalwood and musk, weapon oil and leather polish, instead of armour and blood. He was bundled up in bed, a bed that smelled like Zevran, someone humming softly nearby... he turned his head. Zevran sat in a chair beside the bed, bare feet resting on the edge of it, sharpening a dagger. He looked up, his humming breaking off, and smiled at Jowan.

"How are you feeling?" the elf asked.

Jowan drew a deep, shaky breath, remembering the blinding panic he'd been feeling before he'd been put to sleep. "Better," he answered, blinking at the thin, reedy sound of his voice. His throat was sore. From the screaming, he guessed, flushing at the memory, embarrassed that anyone had seen him so... so _overwrought_. And fighting the panic that threatened for a moment to return as he thought of the memories that had awoken, reminding him of things he devoutly wished he'd never had reason to remember. He felt his hands start to shake, and he clenched them into fists, trying to conceal how upset he was feeling.

"It's okay, you're safe now," Zevran said, voice calm and unstressed. He put aside the blade and polishing cloth, moved to sit on the edge of the bed. The calm way he looked at Jowan steadied the mage's nerves; neither pitying, nor judgemental, just... accepting.

He swallowed. "How... how is Alistair?" he asked.

"Worried. And scared. And very, very sorry that he managed to frighten you so badly. Though it sounds like you managed to frighten him first."

Jowan managed a short, shaky laugh at that. "I suppose I did. Waking up to a known blood mage standing over him with blood running down his arm... n_ot_ a good way to wake a templar." He stopped, took a deep, shaking breath, and started crying, tears pouring from his eyes, running silently down his face. Zevran moved closer, and took him by the hands, squeezing gently, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on the back of Jowan's clenched fists. He leaned close, murmuring something... Jowan didn't understand the words, the elf was speaking in Antivan, but the tone of voice... gentle, and comforting, and so _understanding_... a knot inside him seemed to loosen, and he started really sobbing, rocking back and forth in his distress. Zevran muttered something sharp, and slid closer, putting his arms around him and carefully pulling him close. Jowan lowered his head against the man's shoulder and wept, feeling a strange mix of shame, fear, and relief as he did so. Shame for crying, for why he was feeling so undone – fear that the panic would return, or that the others might think less of him for having given in to it – and relief that Zevran was there and so _accepting_ of Jowan's distress.

He remembered crying like this before, when Alistair had helped him to deal with his feelings of loss and despair over having lost Lily, lost his friends and home. When he'd first realized that Alistair _cared_ about what happened to him, when he'd given up hope that anyone would ever care anything about him ever again. He wished it was Alistair here, holding him now, that it was Alistair's hand rubbing slow circles on his back, Alistair's voice murmuring softly in his ear, not Zevran, and yet... he was glad it wasn't. He didn't _want_ Alistair to see him like this, not right now. And – worse – he realized he was scared to see Alistair again. Scared that every horrific memory that had returned the night before would colour his perception of the man. Just the thought of it made his stomach churn. He didn't want to be scared of Alistair. He didn't want to look at him and only be able to think of men like Hage or Howe.

After a while his tears tapered off. He remained where he was, accepting the comfort Zevran was silently offering. And it _was_ comforting, being held, listening to Zevran's soft, soothing tones, smelling the clean scents of the elf instead of the filthy stench of the dungeon.

"How long... how long did I sleep?" he forced himself to ask after a while.

Zevran broke off his quiet words immediately. "Most of the day. It is late afternoon. You are probably hungry by now. And by the sound of it, you need something to soothe your throat as well. And you certainly need a bath. Perhaps after all of that, if you're feeling enough better, you can tell me what happened."

Jowan shuddered. "I... don't know if I can," he said hesitantly,drawing away from the elf. He stared down at his hands, twisting them together, unable to meet Zevran's eyes.

The elf reached out, touched his shoulder lightly. "It's all right, Jowan," he said, voice still as soft and calm as before. "You don't have to until you're ready to. Nor does it have to be myself that you tell. Just know that if and when you are ready to talk, I am willing to listen."

Jowan nodded, grateful to the elf for not pushing.

"I will draw you a bath, and then go fetch food for us, and a potion for your throat. Are you okay with being left alone, or would you like me to fetch Wynne? Or even Alistair?"

Jowan shook his head. "Neither. I'd... rather not see anyone right now."

"Of course. Do you need a hand getting to the bathing chamber, or do you feel well enough to walk by yourself?"

"By myself," Jowan said softly.

Zevran patted his shoulder understandingly, then rose and strode away. He was back a few minutes later. "The bath is filling, it should be ready soon. I'll be back shortly with the potion for your throat, and then I'll go for the food. All right, _poco mago_?"

"Yes. Thank you, Zevran."

"_No se preocupe, mi amigo_," Zevran said with a gentle smile, and walked out of the room.

Jowan struggled out of the enveloping blankets, and off the bed, then went into the bathing chamber. The tub was already about half full; no matter what else you had to say about the dwarfs, they certainly knew their way around making comfortable bathrooms. He used the facilities while the tub finished filling, then turned off the water and lowered himself into it, hissing slightly as the hot water lapped against some of the bruises and scrapes he'd acquired the night before.

He wondered how Alistair was doing, what he thought of Jowan's panicked fright earlier.

He sat back in the water, feeling scared and alone.


	11. Reassurances

Zevran closed the door quietly behind him. The door to Alistair's room was open, and he was standing in it before Zevran had taken more than a couple of steps toward Wynne's door.

"How is he?" he called softly.

Zevran sighed. "I'm not sure yet. Better than he was. He only just woke up – I need to get a healing potion for his throat, and then food. He's taking a bath right now."

"Oh. I have some potions – one moment," Alistair said, and disappeared back into his room.

Zevran walked over to the door. The room had been completely cleaned, not a trace remaining of the mess it had been in earlier. Alistair had vanished out of sight somewhere. The bathing chamber, at a guess, since Zevran could see pretty much all of the rest of the place. He re-emerged a moment later, carrying a small vial and... a bar of soap! Zevran gave him a questioning look as he accepted the items.

"He... bought that yesterday. For us. We used it last night, before... before."

Zevran nodded in sudden comprehension, and smiled, holding up the bar to sniff at it appreciatively. A nice scent, spicy without being overpowering. "A good thought," he said approvingly. "It will reassure him that you are thinking of him."

"Can I go with you when you get food?" Alistair asked hesitantly. "Just sitting here all day, waiting... it's driving me crazy. I've sharpened my sword three times and polished all my armour twice. I even darned all my socks, and you don't want to see what a mess I can make with wool and a needle," he said fervently.

Zevran smiled. "All right. Let me take these to Jowan first. Oh, and give me a change of clothing for him. He can fit in my things, but he'll be more comfortable in his own."

Alistair nodded and went back into the room, picking up Jowan's backpack and sorting through it. He frowned, looked up. "Should I just give you the entire pack...?" he asked hesitantly.

Zevran shook his head. "No. It might feel like you are rejecting him, kicking him out. Keep his things here, with you, so he knows this is still his home."

Alistair smiled and nodded. "You're right," he said, and dug through the pack with renewed vigour, returning with a set of clothing, and a large, well-worn shirt that Zevran vaguely remembered as an old shirt of Alistair's. "He likes to sleep in this," the warrior said, shyly.

Zevran nodded, and accepted the things from him, then led the way down the hallway to his own room. "Wait here," he cautioned Alistair. "Quietly."

Alistair nodded, and moved to one side of the door, leaning back against the wall, his hands behind him. Zevran slipped back into the room.

"Jowan? I have some things for you," he called out as he approached the bathroom, to give the mage warning that he was there and about to enter. He was pleased to find the mage looking reasonably alert and not distraught, sitting in the tub of hot water.

"Here, clothes for you," he said, holding them up for Jowan to see and then piling them on the counter. "Alistair picked them out. And here is a healing potion for your throat," he continued, uncapping the vial and holding it out. Jowan nodded, accepted it, and drank, then handed the empty vial back.

"Alistair sent this for you, as well," Zevran said, and held out the bar of soap.

Jowan looked at it, surprised, and for a moment a delighted smile crossed his face. He picked it up, held it too his nose, and inhaled deeply of the scent. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome, _mi amigo_. I'll go get food for us now. It should not take me long."

Jowan nodded, and Zevran turned and walked back out to the hallway.

"Well?" Alistair asked softly, straightening up, as he closed the door.

"He is still bathing. He seems all right so far," Zevran said quietly, as they headed toward the stairs down and out of the inn. "I do not think we should leave him on his own for very long, however."

Alistair nodded in agreement.

The two of them walked over to Tapsters, and picked up food for three. Alistair was being unusually quiet, Zevran noticed – quiet even for him, and Alistair was _good _at being quiet, when he wasn't in a garrulous mood. But even when quiet he was normally much more _aware_ of what was going on around him. Usually he'd be looking around, making occasional little noises of surprise, or interest, or pleasure, or disbelief. He had very expressive grunts, snorts, sniffs and sighs. Today he just walked along beside Zevran with his head down, completely silent, an unusually solemn, almost sad, expression on his face.

He didn't speak at all until they'd returned to the inn and were about to part ways in front of Zevran's door. Then all he did was accept the parcel with his share of the food in it, nod his head, and say "Thanks", before trudging down the hallway to his own room.

Zevran frowned and shook his head, and went into his own room.

* * *

><p>Jowan had finished bathing and had changed into the clothes Alistair had supplied. He was sitting on the couch across from the fireplace, arms wrapped around drawn-up legs, staring at the flames. He tensed and raised his head as Zevran walked in, then relaxed slightly when he saw who it was.<p>

"I've brought us some dinner," Zevran said cheerfully, setting the parcel down on the table. "Come, join me, you'll feel better once you've eaten."

Jowan nodded and rose to his feet, and walked over, while Zevran cut the string holding the parcel closed and folded back the layers of paper to reveal what he'd bought for them, deep fried strips of potato and breaded nug, and a bowl of whole grilled mushroom caps stuffed with some kind of cheese. Greasy food, but rich and flavourful. He saw Jowan perk up noticeably at the delicious smells.

"We should have something to drink with this," Zevran said, and frowned. "I should have picked us up some ale. Ah well, I have something even better than ale," he said, and stepped over to his backpack, digging down to the bottom to fetch out a sizable black glass bottle, well-wrapped in spare clothing.

"What's that?" Jowan asked curiously, already seated and digging into the food.

"Antivan brandy. Very hard to find here in Ferelden, but I was lucky enough to come across some a couple months ago. Sadly the bottle is almost finished now. We shall share what is left, yes?"

"Sure," Jowan said.

"I fear I have no glasses, so we will have to drink it from the bottle," Zevran said, and suited actions to words, taking a small sip – though he made it look like a larger one – and then putting the bottle down between them.

Jowan eyed it hesitantly as he nibbled on a strip of breaded nug, then picked it up, sniffed once at the mouth of the bottle, and took a cautious sip. He sputtered and choked. "That's _strong_," he protested.

Zevran grinned. "It's supposed to be. Try some more, it gets better after the first sip or two."

Jowan looked dubious, but did as told. He licked his lips thoughtfully after taking his third sip. "You're right. It's very pleasant. Almost fruity."

Zevran nodded, and reclaimed the bottle to take another sip himself. A terrible way to treat a fine brandy, of course, but it was in a good cause, he reminded himself. He kept up a flow of innocuous conversation during the meal, keeping to safe topics, and only took a sip of brandy himself for every two or three that Jowan did, just enough so that Jowan wouldn't notice how little he was actually drinking.

By the end of the meal Jowan was looking much more relaxed. Zevran added some wood to the fire, and the two of them retired to the couch with the brandy bottle, passing it back and forth. Zevran told another amusing story about one of his adventures back in Antiva, keeping an eye on the mage. When it reached the point where he was starting to sway and look a little dizzy, Zevran reclaimed the bottle and put it to one side. "So, do you feel like talking about what happened last night yet?" he asked, keeping his voice calm and friendly, the same tone he'd used when telling his own stories.

Jowan blinked, and looked at him owlishly. "I... I don't know..." he stammered.

"It's all right, you don't have to tell me unless you want to. But I promise you that I will tell no one else what you tell me, unless you give me permission to do so first. And that there is likely nothing you can tell me that I have not already heard, or experienced, or regrettably even _done_ in the past. Well, unless you want to tell me about some arcane orgy of the mages in the moonlight on top of your tower, I have been in orgies, and lain with mages, and made love beneath the moon and stars on top of towers, but regretfully not all at once. Not yet, anyway."

Jowan laughed. "No. I wish it was something like that," he said, and bit his lip, looking pensive. "Have you ever seen someone being tortured?" he asked, very quietly.

"Yes," Zevran answered, softly. "And been tortured myself, more than once."

Jowan gave him a startled look. "You? But... why would someone..."

Zevran shrugged. "I am a Crow. Our training involves learning not just how to deal pain to others, but how to deal _with_ pain. Our own pain. And how to keep going, to accomplish our goals, even when in pain. It is not a kind or gentle teaching. And I learned it very well indeed," he said, darkly.

"Oh," Jowan said softly.

Zevran picked up the bottle and handed it to him again.

Jowan took another sip, then handed it back. "I had to watch some men being tortured, once..." he whispered, voice low and hoarse. And then it all came out, in dribs and drabs, not in any particular order, but Zevran sorted out the bits and pieces in his head, and saw the picture they made. He gave Jowan more brandy at intervals, so that he stayed just drunk enough to get past his reticence.

Eventually they ended up on the bed, Zevran sitting up against the headboard, Jowan loosely curled up on his side with his head propped up on Zevran's thigh, his hands knotting together in the bedsheets as he talked. He was very drunk, and tired again, and sometimes he had to stop and just cry for a while. Zevran stayed quiet, making encouraging noises at intervals, giving him physical encouragement – touches to the hair or shoulder, or rubbing his back – when he thought they were needed.

He remembered Howe, of course – the Arl had been the one to arrange for his hiring. He wasn't terribly surprised to learn of the sort of activities the man took pleasure from. He'd met the type before, among the Crows. Those who took pleasure in causing pain to others. He knew the dark allure the idea had, though for him the pleasure had always lain in killing men, not tormenting them, that exquisite moment of power when their life lay in your hand, as you _took_ it... but some, he knew, had darker desires, fouler pleasures, a lust for a more prolonged power over someone helpless to resist. Not surprising, given what Crows had to undergo in the course of their own training. Much rarer among the general population, but... not unknown. As the existence of men like Howe and the templar named Hage that Jowan spoke of all too aptly proved.

Eventually Jowan fell silent. Zevran waited, one hand idly petting the mage's hair.

"I'm scared," the man whispered eventually.

"Of what?" Zevran prompted quietly.

Jowan sat up, turned to look at him. "Of a lot of things. It's... been a lot better, since Arren took me on. Since Alistair. Since my Harrowing, especially... but _this_, the way I feel now when I think of... of templars, of men like Alistair, how do I get past this?"

"Do you still love him?"

"Of _course_ I still love him!" Jowan exclaimed. "He's... I... I love him, but right now the thought of seeing him, of getting _close_ to him... my stomach starts churning, and the thought of how big and strong he is, how easily he could... hurt me, if he wanted to..." he paused for a moment, panting, eyes large and dark. "It scares me. And it scares me even more that it _does_ scare me. I don't _want_ to be scared of him. I love him so much. Why am I scared of him! I shouldn't be! This makes no _sense!_"

Zevran smiled reassuringly at him. "Sense and emotion have very little to do with each other, _mi amigo_. But learning not to be scared of Alistair – that is something we can work on. Tomorrow. Right now, I think we both need to sleep. And then tomorrow morning we'll talk for a while, and then we'll go on from there. All right?"

Jowan nodded, looking miserable. "All right," he agreed, faintly.

They both changed into clothes for sleeping. Zevran normally wore nothing but his smallclothes, but in courtesy to Jowan he dug out a pair of drawstring briefs and an old loose shirt to wear for the night. Jowan pulled on the old shirt of Alistair's, and seemed to take some comfort from it. As drunk as he was, he dropped off to sleep very quickly.

Zevran sat awake a while longer, finishing off the little bit of brandy left in the bottle, before he, too, slept.


	12. Recovery

Jowan felt a moment of disorientation again when he awoke, before recognizing that he was still in Zevran's quarters. He moved, and groaned as the movement set his head to pounding. "Ow!"

Zevran chuckled softly from somewhere nearby. "Sorry, my friend. The brandy helped with many things last night, but I am afraid it has left you with a hangover this morning."

Jowan moaned and sat up, then clutched at his head and swallowed thickly. "Is that what this is? A hangover?" he asked, and squinted at the elf, who was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, mending a torn seam in a shirt.

Zevran looked at him curiously. "Yes Have you never had one before?"

Jowan grimaced. "No. This is a first for me. I wonder..." He concentrated, and felt a faint surge of magic answer his call. A weak healing glow surrounded his hands for a moment, strengthening slowly, and the horrible headache receded. "Well, at least the effects of the smite seem to be wearing off finally," he said, smiling in relief.

"Excellent!" Zevran said approvingly. "How do you feel this morning?"

Jowan frowned, then grinned shyly as his stomach gave a loud, rumbling gurgle. "Hungry."

Zevran laughed. "Get dressed, and we will go for a walk, have some breakfast, and talk a little more."

Jowan nodded, and got out of bed. The only clothes available were the ones he'd worn yesterday, but he'd only had them on for a few hours and they were still reasonably fresh. He self-consciously moved out of the elf's line of sight, and quickly changed back into them. "Ready," he said.

"Good," Zevran said, stabbed the needle he was using through a fold of fabric, and put aside the unfinished mending, then smoothly rolled off the bed and to his feet. "Let's go."

Jowan couldn't help glancing down the hallway toward his and Alistair's room as they left. The door was shut. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed not to catch a glimpse of Alistair. More relieved than disappointed, he decided as they descended the stairs and exited the inn. He still wasn't feeling up to facing the man.

"Shall we go to Tapsters, or find somewhere different?" Zevran asked.

Jowan frowned. Alistair would undoubtedly head to Tapsters to get something to eat once he woke up; he tended to be a creature of habit. "Somewhere different," Jowan said.

Zevran nodded, and led the way off down one of the side-streets leading away from the concourse around the lava lake. They soon came out in a dimly lit courtyard, with several small booths around the edge of it, selling different food-stuffs. Zevran purchased food for the two of them, and they found seats on one of the several outcroppings of rock that decorated the centre of the courtyard. Zevran looked at Jowan thoughtfully as they ate, considering his words of the night before.

"Come, let us walk for a while," he said once Jowan had finished eating. They disposed of the litter from their meal, and headed off, sticking to the quiet side-streets. "You said last night that it scared you, thinking of Alistair."

Jowan tensed, and hung his head. "Yes," he said, voice low and miserable. "I don't _want_ to be scared of him... but I am."

Zevran nodded. "You seemed to think it was because of how big and strong he was, how easily he might hurt you, if he wished to."

Jowan reluctantly nodded. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Do I scare you? I, too, am strong, and could easily harm you."

Jowan gave him an uneasy, sideways glance, then smiled slightly. "No. You don't scare me... not the same way, anyway. I know you're dangerous, but... you don't really look it. You don't _feel_ dangerous to me."

Zevran nodded. "How about the dwarfs," he said, gesturing at the few visible ahead of them. "Many of them are as strong and muscular as our Alistair, are they not? And those weapons! Very nasty."

"Hmmm. A little nervous maybe. But... they're so _small_. I find it hard to feel scared of someone who makes _me_ feel tall," the diminutive mage pointed out.

Zevran grinned at that. "Okay then, what about a qunari, someone like Sten? He's even bigger than Alistair..."

Jowan visibly paled, and shuddered. "I've heard how the qunari treat their mages," he said faintly. "Sten isn't too bad, but qunari in general _terrify_ me."

"Does Sten scare you more or less than Alistair?"

"More. _Much_ more," Jowan said softly. "Alistair at least believes I'm more than just a _thing_."

"Sten does too, you know... I do believe associating with us is corrupting him. He will likely find himself feeling terribly out of place after he finally returns home. Especially since they have no cookies there."

Jowan laughed softly. "Perhaps."

"What about Arren? He is larger than either you or I. And the way he handles that big sword of his, like it weighs almost nothing..." Zevran almost purred, a warm smile cross his lips.

Jowan gave him another sideways look. "You, errr... _like_ Arren?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course! He is a very attractive elf. A pity he belongs to the witch already, and she has no interest in sharing. Our dear warden would be made most welcome in my tent any time he wished to enter," Zevran said with a frankly lascivious smile. "So... does _he_ scare you? Even a little?"

Jowan frowned. "Not particularly. He's not all that much bigger than me."

"So, we are narrowing down on what scares you then. Not just someone who is strong, and could hurt you, but someone who is much bigger than you, as well."

Jowan nodded slowly. "Yes. Especially if..." he paused for a moment, swallowed uneasily, then continued. "Especially if they can take my magic away. With... with things like holy smite, or with magebane poison. _That_ scares me, being helpless, being without any power to defend myself. I... I was always so terrified that they were going to make me tranquil, take away my magic forever..." Jowan stopped walking, looking surprised.

Zevran stopped as well, and smiled. "You see? Your fear is not irrational, not at its heart. So is it so much that Alistair is much bigger and stronger than you, or that he can strip you of your powers, that you fear?"

"I... I'm not sure," Jowan said, looking thoughtful.

"Well, think on it," Zevran said, then led the way back to his room at the inn.

* * *

><p>Jowan spent the rest of the morning in thought, while Zevran worked on repairing and maintaining his gear. At midday he went out to pick up food for them, taking Alistair along again. The warrior was showing the strain of the last couple of days; his appearance was unkempt, with large dark rings under his eyes, his shoulders distinctly slumped. And he was still being unnaturally quiet.<p>

Zevran frowned, and sent Alistair ahead to place the order for their food while he made a couple of purchases in the commons before joining him there. It wasn't long before their food was ready, and they started back to inn.

"Alistair," Zevran said, his voice a touch on the severe side.

"Yeah?" Alistair asked, not even looking up at him.

Zevran sighed, and stopped walking, putting out one hand to touch his arm. "Alistair. Do not let yourself fall apart like this. Jowan needs you to be strong right now. He loves you. He is trying very hard to find his way back to you. You must not despair, _mi amigo_."

Alistair just stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. His back straightened just the slightest bit. "All right," he agreed. "I'll try. It's just... I miss him so much," the warrior said miserably.

Zevran snorted. "You must try harder, if you are to come and see him this evening."

That got the man's attention. He perked right up, like a mabari seeing its owner about to go for a walk. "I can see him?"

Zevran nodded. "I think he will be ready to see you by then, at least briefly. So. You are to go to your room, and eat your lunch, and then you are to take a nice nap, and then keep yourself busy for the rest of the afternoon instead of moping. I will be coming over to fetch you some time this evening, if things go well. I want you looking well-rested and calm, not like something the mabari dug up, yes? Make sure to bathe, and put on clean clothes, so you smell and look good. And be sure to use this," Zevran said, picked up his hand, and pressed one of his purchases into it.

Alistair stared down for a moment, then suddenly smiled. His back straightened as he lifted the bar of soap and smelled it. "The same scent," he said happily.

"Yes. He will like that. Now, go eat your lunch."

"All right. Thank you, Zevran," Alistair said, and headed off to his room.

Zevran smiled and shook his head, then let himself back into his own room.

* * *

><p>By mid-afternoon, Jowan was starting to get antsy from lack of having anything to do but <em>think<em>, and Zevran decided it was time to bring out his other purchases.

"I have a gift for you. It is in two parts," he told the mage, picked up the oilcloth wrapped bundle he'd brought home along with their lunch, and put it down on the table near where Jowan was seated. "The first is this."

Jowan gave the package and him a puzzled look.

"Open it," Zevran directed.

Jowan hesitantly folded back the wrappings, and raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw the sheathed dagger inside. "A knife?" he said, puzzled.

"Not quite. A dagger. A weapon. And the second part of my gift for you is that I will spend some time each day in teaching you how to use it, so even if you are without your magic, you will still be able to do something to defend yourself."

Jowan's face lit up. "You... you really think I could really learn how to use this?" he asked hesitantly, reaching out to touch his fingertips to the hilt.

"Of course. It is a simple weapon. I can also teach you how to use your staff like a stave; it is sturdy enough that it will not come to harm being used as such. That will have to wait until we have left Orzammar though; practising the staff takes more room than we have in here. But come, we will have your first lesson in the dagger right now. Starting with how to put it on," he said, smiling, and passed over a second purchase. "Here, a weapon belt for you. The pouch there has a whetstone, oil and cloth for keeping the dagger sharp. We will worry about that later. For now we will try a few different things and try to determine what draw will suit you better."

They spent a couple of hours on that first lesson, most of that spent just in trying different positions for the dagger and different draws until Zevran found one that he felt would work with someone whose right hand was usually occupied with a large staff – slung low on the left hip, where Jowan could draw the dagger with either his left or right hand – and then getting Jowan used to drawing and sheathing the dagger safely with either hand.

"I think we will need to work on both left- and right-hand fighting for you," Zevran said thoughtfully as they sat down for dinner. "So you have some proficiency with the dagger even if still holding onto your staff. You will likely be better at right-handed fighting, since it is your primary hand. Unless you work very hard at left-hand fighting."

"That makes sense," Jowan said, then looked at Zevran curiously. "Which hand are you better with?"

Zevran smiled charmingly. "I am equally proficient with both. Flexibility is encouraged in the Crows. In all things," he added, his grin widening.

Jowan snorted and rolled his eyes. "You're making a joke about sex again," he pointed out. "Does it always come down to sex for you?"

"No, just most of the time," Zevran said, then abruptly shrugged and looked serious for a moment. "I have very few subjects on which I can converse for any length of time, my friend. Sex is among the politest of them, which may give you an idea of just how distasteful many of them are."

"I've heard you talk of other things," Jowan pointed out. "Like... Antiva, or fine food and good drink..."

Zevran grinned. "Yes. Which always leaves me feeling homesick and hungry. You can guess how talking about sex makes me feel." He was pleased to see Jowan laugh openly at that. The mage had recovered considerably from the shaken, withdrawn, frightened man he'd half-carried into the room two days before.

"So, I thought we might have some company over this evening," Zevran said casually as he cleared the table.

Jowan froze for a moment, then looked up. "Alistair?" he said softly.

"Yes. At least for a little while. He misses you very much, you know."

"I miss him, too," Jowan said, more then a touch of longing in his voice. "He made me so nervous when we first met, you know, especially after I learned he was a templar. But he was always... kind, and gentle, and then he became a friend, and I realized he _cared_ about what happened to me..." he trailed off. "I'd stopped hoping that anyone would care about me any more, after... after my escape from the tower. I didn't think I _deserved_ for anyone to care about me any more. Not after betraying everyone I knew and loved."

Zevran frowned down at his own hands. "Betrayal... can be hard to get past. You have to learn to forgive yourself, first. Which can be a very hard thing to do."

"Yes," Jowan agreed softly.


	13. Reconciliation

Alistair clenched his hands into fists, and stared blankly at the fireplace. How much longer was it going to be until Zevran came and got him? The waiting, after being told he'd finally get to see Jowan again... _Maker_, it was driving him mad. At least Jowan was enough better that Zevran thought it was going to okay for them to be together again, even if just for a little while.

He forced his hands to flatten out on his thighs, and tried to relax. Calm. He needed to be calm for Jowan. By Andraste's Flame, he missed him _so much_... He jumped at the sound of a soft tapping on his door, then scrambled to his feet and hurried over to open the door.

Zevran stood there. He gave Alistair an evaluating look, then smiled. "You look much better then you did earlier today. Good. How are you feeling?"

Alistair snorted. "Like I'm going crazy, waiting. Can we... can we go see him?" he asked, almost pleading, he was so anxious.

"Yes," Zevran said, giving him an easy smile. "Calm down first. If you are calm, it will be easier for Jowan to stay calm as well. Come, take a few deep breaths."

Alistair nodded, and did as told, forcing himself to breath slowly and deeply. After a moment he felt some of his tension draining away.

"All right," Zevran said softly. "That is better. Now, we will take things slowly. Sit down once you are in the room, and let Jowan decide when he is comfortable with moving closer to you. I do not think it will take him very long," the elf added with a wry grin. "He is missing you too, very much."

Alistair nodded, and nervously followed Zevran down the hall to his room, forcing himself to continue breathing slowly. Then Zevran opened the door, and they stepped in.

Jowan sitting on the bed at the far end of the room. Alistair stopped and just stared at him for a moment, hungrily. He looked... good. Certainly much better then he had when Zevran had taken him away two days ago. A little pale at the moment, his fingers clenched into the bedspread to either side of him, but calm, his eyes searching Alistair's face as hungrily as Alistair looked at him. The mage looked away first, away and down to one side, his hands tightening even further on the sheets. Alistair felt a light touch on his arm, and glanced at Zevran. The elf nodded toward a chair a few steps ahead of him, placed facing the bed. Alistair nodded, and set down in it, while Zevran crossed the room to Jowan, and bent down, saying something softly to him, quietly enough that Alistair couldn't hear what it was. Then Zevran patted Jowan's shoulder lightly, and moved to sit down as well, cross-legged on the bed behind Jowan.

Jowan glanced back at him, then finally looked at Alistair again. "Alistair," he said, voice soft and hesitant, then bit at his lower lip.

Alistair tried to smile at him, but wasn't sure how successful a smile his was, not with his stomach feeling like an entire cloud of butterflies was flapping around in it. He was so worried that he was going to do something stupid and make things worse instead of better. He rubbed his sweating palms along his thighs. "How are you?" he asked as the silence began to stretch out too long.

Jowan shrugged slightly. "Better," he said, then looked away again, down at his feet.

Alistair's heart plummeted. How were they going to get past this if Jowan couldn't even stand to look at him? He bit his lip, his own gaze dropping, and felt his eyes starting to fill with tears. He blinked furiously. Oh, Maker, _no_, don't let him cry in front of the pair of them...

"Alistair?" Jowan's voice, quiet and surprised.

That did it. A sob escaped him, and he pressed his hands to his eyes. "Sorry, sorry..." he stuttered. "It's just... I miss you _so much_..." he took a gasping breath, trying to stop his crying.

And then familiar hands were touching his shoulders, then pulling his hands away from his face, and Jowan was there, kneeling on the floor in front of him, with a look of such _concern_ on his face...

"I missed you too," Jowan said, voice hoarse, hands moving to cup Alistair's face, thumbs rubbing at the tear-streaks. Then the mage leaned forward, and kissed him, very gently. Alistair sat quietly, just accepting the kiss. He felt his tears drying up, and a tiny curl of warm contentment unfolding deep inside him.

The kiss ended. Jowan remained where he was for a moment, a slight, shy smile on his lips, then retreated to the bed again. Alistair watched him go, but made no move to follow him. If Jowan needed some space between them to better deal with things, then that was what he needed. Zevran gave him an approving smile and a slight nod as Jowan reseated himself, and Alistair took a deep breath, and felt himself truly relax this time. Things _would_ get better. As long as they still loved each other, they could re-learn how to be with one another. And that kiss told him that Jowan still loved him, as nothing else could have. He could wait, for as long as it took.

Zevran rose to his feet. "Well, I think we should now have something to drink. I am, sadly, entirely out of Antivan brandy at the moment, but I found an acceptable whiskey at Tapsters earlier, and even bought some glasses so we will not have to share the bottle. So we shall sit around and drink and talk, yes?"

Alistair frowned, concerned. "I'm... not very good at drinking..." he said hesitantly.

"That is all right, my friend," Zevran said. "You may take tiny sips. And I promise to see that you get safely to bed later."

Alistair snorted, but accepted a glass of whiskey when Zevran held one out. He sputtered and choked after the first sip, and looked up to find both Jowan and Zevran looking at him.

"Try a little more," Jowan said, a brief grin lighting his face. "It gets better after the first few sips." And took another sip of his own drink.

"Just so," Zevran agreed.

* * *

><p>At some point in the drinking Zevran and Jowan invited Alistair onto the bed. To make it easier to pass the bottle around, was the excuse Zevran gave. So Zevran and Jowan sat side-by-side against the headboard, the by-then-rather-drunk mage leaning comfortably against the elf, and Alistair stretched out across the foot of the bed. He thought it should seem annoying that Zevran was touching Jowan when <em>he<em> wasn't allowed to, especially when Zevran's manner usually seemed to project a frank sexuality, an instant willingness to take on any and all comers. But the elf had done... _something_, he wasn't sure what... and seemed weirdly androgynous instead. No, that wasn't the right word either. He seemed... neutral. Sexless as a statue. His presence didn't impinge, he was just _there_, someone safe, whose presence helped Jowan to feel secure enough to be close to Alistair again.

They took turns telling stories. Stories about when they were kids growing up, mainly. He told them about being lost out on Lake Calenhad during a rainstorm. Jowan talked about how scared he'd been when he'd first been brought to Kinloch Hold, and how his friend Mara had made him feel welcome. Zevran told a story about an exciting rooftop chase in Antiva City that ended when he fell through a weak spot on a roof, and ended up landing in someone's bed. In several senses of the word.

Jowan and Alistair were both laughing by the time he'd finished that one. Zevran grinned, then yawned hugely.

"We should sleep," he said.

"Oh. Okay," Alistair said, feeling disappointed, and started to get up.

"Don't go," Jowan said forlornly.

"Yes, you must stay. I am too drunk to see you back to your room after all," Zevran said. "Come, lie down here," he said, patting the bed beside him.

Alistair hesitated a moment, then moved to lie down where Zevran had indicated.

"Where's my shirt?" Jowan asked, sitting up and frowning, looking around.

"You're wearing it," Alistair pointed out.

"No, not this one," Jowan said. "The one I sleep in."

"Jowan is right, we should change for bed," Zevran said matter-of-factly, and leaned over Jowan to reach over the edge of the bed. He sat back up with a bundle of cloth in his hand. "Here's your shirt, Jowan."

The mage grunted, took it, and dropped it in his lap, then started trying to take off his current shirt, then started flailing. "Help! It won't come off!"he squawked, tugging futilely at the fabric, head lost somewhere inside it.

Zevran laughed, his own hands busy with stripping off his own clothing. "You didn't undo the laces first, my friend. Alistair, help him."

There was a confused time of everyone changing and helping each other to change, at the end of which Alistair was dressed in just his leggings, Jowan in the old shirt of Alistair's he liked to sleep in, and Zevran in a loose shirt and short breeches. And somehow in all the shifting of positions, Zevran had moved to the other side of the bed, so Jowan was in the middle, between the two of them.

"Lie down, Alistair," Zevran said, voice firm. "More whiskey, Jowan?"

"No, I'm fine," the mage mumbled. "Had enough to drink, I want to sleep."

"Good. We should all sleep," Zevran said, and patted Jowan's shoulder. "Come, you lie down too," he said, shifting closer, one hand touching Jowan's shoulder and pushing him gently down. And somehow subtly guiding Jowan so that when he did, the mage ended up against Alistair, his head pillowed on Alistair's outstretched arm.

Jowan tensed, eyes opening wide. Before he could move away, Zevran lay down behind him, the elf's slim arm slipping around his waist. "You're safe," he said, very quietly. "We're all friends, yes?"

"Yes," Jowan said very softly, and lay very still. Gradually he relaxed, and after a few minutes his breathing slowed and quieted, eyes drifting shut.

Moving very slowly and carefully, Alistair rolled closer, and let his other arm drape over Jowan's side, just below where Zevran's arm was. Jowan made a sleepy murmur, snuggling closer to him, and Alistair smiled, feeling all warm and happy, because Jowan was in his arms again. Along with an elf who, he decided, he owed some serious gratitude to.

He raised his head, peering past Jowan's dark hair at the much paler head of hair and glint of still-awake eyes beyond it. "You're a very sneaky man," he whispered. "Thank you."

"Of course. You are lucky I'm on your side," the elf said smugly, teeth gleaming in a wide grin. "Now hush."

Alistair dropped off to sleep himself within minutes, still smiling.


	14. Homecoming

Zevran carefully leaned across the sleeping mage, and nudged Alistair's shoulder. "Alistair," he whispered, very quietly, hoping to wake the warrior without disturbing the mage.

His battle-trained reflexes made it easy; he woke immediately, eyes snapping open and body tensing momentarily while he evaluated what had woken him. He relaxed slightly when he realized there was no threat present.

"Alistair... go back to your own room now," Zevran said, the words barely audible.

Alistair frowned, and looked down at the mage still sleeping between the two of them. "Why?" he asked, voice equally quiet.

"Better he wake, and miss you, then wake and feel scared to find you here, yes?" Zevran explained.

Alistair's lips twisted in a slight smile. "Right. Sneaky bastard."

Zevran grinned in acknowledgement, and carefully helped Alistair to extricate himself from the cuddle without waking Jowan. The warrior silently gathered his discarded clothing, and slipped out of the room, closing the door silently behind him. Zevran curled up against the mage again, and let himself drift back to sleep.

* * *

><p>Jowan muttered as he woke. <em>Maker<em>, another hangover... he sat up, pressing his hands to his throbbing temples, and only once he'd cured it realized that he was alone in the bed.

"Zevran?" he called tremulously. "Alistair?"

There was a splashing sound from the direction of the bathing chamber, then Zevran appeared in the doorway, a towel clutched around his narrow hips. "Ah, you're awake, good. How are you feeling this morning?"

Jowan ignored the question, more interested in learning the answer to a different one. "Where's Alistair?" he asked plaintively.

"I believe he went back to his own room," Zevran said.

"Oh," Jowan said, slumping in disappointment. "I wish... I thought he'd still be here," he said, feeling and sounding miserable.

"Do you want to see him, then?" Zevran asked gently.

Jowan knotted his hands in the bedclothes, considering the question. "Yes," he finally said, voice barely more then a whisper.

"Then go see him," Zevran said, voice kind and warm and encouraging. "Do you want me to come along as well, or do you feel up to going alone?"

Jowan hesitated. "I'm... not sure," he said, voice small and just a little scared.

"Then give me a moment to dry off and dress, and I will come with you," Zevran said, and disappeared back into the bathroom.

Jowan lay back down. The scent of Alistair rose from the pillow as he put his head down, and he remembered falling asleep the night before, in both men's arms. He sat back up again. "I think I'll just go," he called out. "I... I think I'll be fine."

Zevran came back to the door, dressed in his smallclothes, the towel hanging around his neck. "All right. Be well, _poco mago_."

Jowan nodded and rose, and hurried out of the room, and down the hall to his and Alistair's room. He put his hand on the door handle, took a single deep breath, then opened the door and slipped inside.

The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of banked coals from the fireplace. It smelled of metal and armour polish and spicy soap – it smelled of Alistair. It smelled _safe_. He hurried across the cold stone floor, and crawled up onto the bed. Alistair was sprawled on his stomach, sheets scrunched up around his waist, his feet poking out from under them at the foot of the bed. He woke at the movement of the bed, turning his head, and smiled when he saw who it was.

"Welcome home, Jowan," he said, and rolled onto his side, arm lifting so that Jowan could scoot up against him, then drew him close, burying his nose in Jowan's hair and breathing in deeply. Jowan smiled, and buried his face against Alistair's neck.

Home. Yes, with Alistair, where he belonged. He wouldn't forget again, he promised himself.


End file.
